


The Honeymoon Suite

by KathAbernathy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drama, Dramedy, F/M, Post Season 10, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathAbernathy/pseuds/KathAbernathy
Summary: The Whisperers war is over, but the horde's still around. Caryl are raising Lydia and the Grimes children in postwar Alexandria and searching for the perfect private hideaway to get their wild thing on. Set in post Season 10.This is the sequel (I guess?) to "Crossing the Threshold." Either fic can stand alone, though.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. Daryl's Discovery

"You ready?" Daryl asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Carol hummed and bungeed the last bundle of supplies onto the back of his bike. "We're just about there, Pookie. Did Judith get a hold of Dog?" They had learned that, if no one held onto the dog, he would attempt to follow whenever Carol and Daryl left Alexandria together. Sometimes he was sneaky in his determination to remain by their side, and they'd had to get creative about it when planning one of their assignations. 

"Dunno. Maybe. I don't see 'im around, do you?" 

Carol straightened up and fixed him with a look that said, really? "Since when does that mean anything? We didn't spot him following us the last time until we were nearly four miles out."

Daryl chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "A'right," he finally said. "We should prob'ly tell the fam we're leavin', anyhow." They occasionally slipped away without saying their farewells first, and as things turned out, departures mattered more to them than to the kids, who had their own lives in Alexandria and likely wouldn't especially care to know their guardians were sneaking out of town to grab themselves some time and space to get their wild thing on. Judith and R.J. were unconcerned about their occasional absences, they would stay at Gabe and Rosita's, or with Aaron and Gracie, or more recently, they'd preferred to remain at home with Lydia. 

Lydia seemed to take their departures more personally with every passing trip, and now made it a point to avoid them and their goodbyes whenever they were preparing to leave. Both Carol and Daryl had attempted to approach her about it and all either managed to get out of her was that nobody was picking on her now, she didn't mind watching the fam while they were gone, get out of here, already.

*********

Michonne had been gone a good three months, and the five of them fell into familiar routines. In search of a word to describe their household, Carol and Daryl ran the concept by the kids. It was Judith who suggested the "fam." Fam, she explained, could mean one or three or all of them. They all took to referring to themselves and each other as fam. Lydia seemed to appreciate anything that made her feel included, although Carol noticed she'd become increasingly distant lately. There was so much they didn't know about Lydia and what she had seen and done in her life before. 

"Kid's gotta be fucked up," Daryl mused, "She's been through worse than us in some ways and we're both still skippin' a beat or two, even on our best days."

Carol had gifted her with and taught Lydia how to use a long bow, and the girl was becoming so skilled at hunting with it that she contributed almost as much meat for the table as her adoptive father. Their household had dried, smoked and canned so much venison and wild boar that they were already set for the winter and a little beyond, and it was only the beginning of what used to be October. 

Fall was moving in and the nights were crisp and chilly. The apple crop was almost ready for harvest. The pecans and walnut trees had produced well, their branches drooping with an abundance of nuts even after the birds had been at them. Fall mushrooms would sprout and grow as soon as they had their first good autumn rain. It had snowed hard and early the previous winter, but only the one time. The weather this year was otherwise mild, so the deer and other wildlife were healthy and fat even before summer arrived. The community gardens in the settlements were thriving and producing a bumper crop of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Since they'd become intimate, Carol was in a constant struggle against the urge to cling to Daryl. The thought of losing him made her heart clutch in her chest even before they were touching each other all the time. Now it was magnified a thousandfold. She could only truly relax when he was in her sight, and when he wasn't, his absence gnawed at her and preoccupied her mind until he returned. She didn't share these feelings with him. Daryl had enough on his plate on any given day without the bother of calming her persistent anxiety. Most of the time all Carol wanted was to wrap herself around him and hang on tight. She felt as if they were two halves of a whole person and her missing piece kept wanting desperately to reattach itself. 

"You're like a octopus," he'd laughed softly in their bed, "got your tentacles locked 'round your prey an' your suckers latched on and ain't lettin' go for nothin.'" 

"Sorry," she'd apologized. She started to release him, and he tightened his own arms around her.

"Now just wait a minute," he said, "I wasn't complainin'. I like it when you hold onto me." He nuzzled her neck. "You know I ain't never gonna get enough lovin' from you, so just keep on dishin' it out, all ya got. I can take it."

She gifted him with that blinding smile, then winked and ducked beneath the covers to bless him with a little more of the love he could never get enough of.

*********

Three more babies had been born since Coco, and Alexandria was growing. Former residents of the Kingdom and Hilltop divided themselves amongst Alexandria, Oceanside, and a budding new community to the west called the Garden. A fourth group had gone to Hilltop to attempt to rebuild, and while it was a struggle, progress was finally being made, the wall was restored, repaired and well fortified. The thirty-some people trying to live there were hoping to have enough shelters built and supplies in stock to stay put through the coming winter. Everybody was busy building, growing, and planning, determined to create something new and better than what came before it.

Alpha and Beta's demise and the scattered departures of the remaining Whisperers left their gigantic walker horde loose with no one skilled enough or schooled in how to steer it away and out of the vicinity. The only person from the settlements who'd ever even attempted herding walkers (besides Lydia, who flatly refused the request) was Negan, and he'd failed miserably in his efforts. Daryl still pitched him shit about the debacle every chance he got. 

"Couldn't even play a fake Whisperer. How the hell did ya get in their club, anyway?" he'd growl, with a sneer Negan mockingly referred to as "Mister Dick-Son's Pants-Shittin' Face." He'd spell the second and third words in sign language to ensure no one missed their meaning. 

The two men poked at one another without mercy and Carol knew they mostly did it for sick amusement, but sometimes there was a disturbing and vicious undercurrent to the insults they lobbed back and forth. Carol hadn't witnessed what Negan did to Glenn and Abraham, but Daryl certainly had. He never forgot, no matter how lively the banter between them. A part of him still wanted to kill Negan, but that shade of Daryl's personality spoke to him less and less as time went on and had recently fallen silent altogether. There were occasions now -- not many, but some -- when he actually liked Negan, and that was worse than anything.

The settlements dispatched surveillance patrols to monitor the horde's movement and report back to the communities. The leaders and community councils had spent many long days strategizing and theorizing, searching for a method to safely remove the horde from the area and nothing they'd tried so far had been successful. Once, the horde wandered nearly ten miles distant all on their own, only to turn around and travel all the way back to almost their exact starting point. 

"Fuckers are all dead but their compasses still work," Daryl observed bitterly.

All the communities except Oceanside were fully walled off and self-contained. Oceanside already had their system of bells, horns and sirens strategically placed to divert herds. When the horde got too close or swarmed the other settlements, residents simply hunkered down and stayed quiet for as long as it took before the horde drifted off to another area. Thousands of walkers would mill around outside the walls, sometimes for days. Silence was critical at such times. Everyone spoke in hushed tones and it was best to avoid verbal speech at all. The sign language Kelly and her sister had brought to the communities was proving useful to all in the aftermath of the Whisperer War, and several key persons, including Daryl and Carol, learned it well enough to be fluent. It was the fam's preferred method of communication during the forced quiet times when the horde was upon them.

Tasks requiring any real noise to complete were delayed for as long as the horde was nearby. Daryl had all but given up his motorcycle since it was even more of a walker magnet now that the horde hung around all the time. Since the fall of Hilltop, there was also a severe shortage of the corn ethanol he used to fuel his iron horse. Daryl was determined to avoid riding live flesh-and-blood horses if possible, but he also realized the clock was ticking on how long he was going to get away with eschewing their more organic forms of travel. When Carol asked him if they could take the bike and sneak away to the honeymoon suite for a couple of nights, Daryl was up and packing the panniers before dawn the next morning. 

They'd been lying in their bed in what used to be Daryl's room. The horde had departed two days prior and the fam were outside, happy to be free to run and yell again. The autumn days were getting shorter, and the three of them bolted out the door immediately after an early supper. Carol quickly gathered up the dinner dishes, dumped them in the sink, then took Daryl by the hand and led him down the stairs where they took advantage of the opportunity to indulge themselves with what Carol called the twoshot. 

The twoshot was when they satisfied each other as quickly and quietly as possible. Twice. Daryl's recovery time was impressive and they never failed to take advantage of it. They even created a hand signal for the twoshot, so they could refer to it in conversation -- silent or spoken -- and no one else had a clue. It was a reliable survival mechanism they utilized most days in lieu of actually making love. The lack of time and privacy typically left anything more involved out of the question. 

For their more fiery embraces, Carol and Daryl couldn't seem to figure out how to quietly get it on. They'd tried, but there was enough of the animal in both of them that they were never going to master the art of the silent screw. Even on a twoshot it wasn't unusual for one of them to clamp their own hand or have the other's hand over their mouth to muffle them during their most intense moments. Sex with each other was still consistently a near out-of-body experience, and letting go of their inhibitions was half the fun. They didn't want to be quiet. They didn't want to gross out the fam, either, or the neighbors. So they came up with a compromise: the honeymoon suite.

The honeymoon suite would be their hole-in-the-wall hideaway where they indulged their mutual obsession with and shared screaming orgasms. Getting each other off was their absolute favorite pastime, and if they had the freedom to do it in spectacular fashion, so much the better. Life was too short not to take advantage of every reasonable opportunity they found to combust and melt together into a singular puddle of postcoital bliss. Discovering each other sexually had been a high point in both their existences. They dedicated all the time and effort they could reasonably spare to finding opportunities to work on and perfect their craft. The only problems were they required a secure, soundproof enclosure and the absence of an audience -- both extremely difficult conditions to ensure in a zombie apocalypse.

It was obvious from the beginning of their physical relationship they needed to suppress themselves somewhat, especially when the kids were around. They learned you can never quite trust any expectation of privacy when Judith returned to the house early one day, and nearly caught them in flagrante delicto on the kitchen counter. 

Carol was on her back, pants dangling from one ankle and her knees draped over Daryl's broad shoulders with his shirt nearly pulled off as he held onto her hips and nuzzled greedily between her trembling thighs. Then the front door slammed and they were instantly scrambling, Carol tripping over her pants as she jumped down from the countertop. They ducked and whispered and ultimately hid in the pantry, tugging their clothes back on in the pitch dark and half expecting Judith to open the door and catch them red-handed. 

When the child had gone upstairs and the coast was clear, they crept out of the kitchen and down to their room to finish themselves off with the always reliable twoshot. Later, they'd laughed about it so hard that Daryl farted and Carol peed herself a couple drops. Then they'd laughed even harder about that. Lydia had come downstairs and knocked on the door to ask if they were all right, because, "It sounds like you guys are both crying in there."

It was funny then, but it wasn't funny that they wanted and needed privacy for their trysts. Time that could be spent focusing on one another and little or nothing else was essential. Time when they didn't have to worry about offending, arousing, embarrassing, or freaking anybody out with their more bestial natures. The only way to guarantee that was to "get the fuck out of Dodge" as Daryl said, and retreat to some remote hideaway far from any of the settlements. The couple scouted for potential locations on every supply run, and in the beginning made do with whatever reasonably protected accommodations they could find, once a shipping container which, to their discouragement, had a painfully acute capacity for echo and reverb.

They'd enjoyed the one-time privacy offered by several locations, but repeat visits rarely worked out. Daryl teased her that their howling haunted every place they fucked in and attracted walkers for all eternity after they finished with it. It was supposed to be a joke, but his prediction came unnervingly true. Almost always when they returned to a site, it was actively overrun. On two occasions, they realized later if they had been caught by a herd in either one, they'd probably be dead. 

It was a wake up call for both of them. After the second narrow escape, they scoured the surrounding area in earnest, searching for a safe and more permanent space to commingle in. Preferably not half a day's journey away, but far enough that no one would come looking for them, or would be unlikely to find them if they did. Weeks later, they were still on the lookout and beginning to lose hope.

**********

Life fell into a somewhat predictable pattern. Breakfast with the fam, then whatever each of them had going on for the day. Carol and Daryl preferred to work as a team when outside the walls with the exception of hunts. On the rare occasion someone unfamiliar with them suggested separate forays, the duo simultaneously stared at them in icy silence. This tactic never failed to result in immediate backtracking. In a short time it became public knowledge that whatever Carol and Daryl contributed, they preferred to do it as a pair unless one of them needed to stay with the fam. They only split up rarely, usually for a supply or trade run when, for whatever reason, it wasn't possible to go together and at least one of them had to represent. 

Daryl still hunted solo more often than not, although he took Lydia out there with him on a regular basis, and occasionally Judith. Somebody needed to stay with R.J. and while she was a skilled hunter and proficient with the bow, when Carol looked forward to a hunt it was usually with visions of one of them pushing the other up against a tree and had little or nothing to do with procuring meat for the fam. This was another reason she'd stay behind. Noise attracted walkers, but it frightened off everything else. When they spent their hunt time ravishing each other in the woods, they were more likely than not to return home empty-handed. Carol enjoyed hunting with Daryl, he was his most alive in the forest and in their bed, but it wasn't always practical to accompany him when he went, especially when the true purpose was to obtain actual food.

One day while he was hunting alone, Daryl stumbled across a place with real potential. Finding it was a pure stroke of luck. He was about six miles out and tracking a big whitetail buck he had shot with a bolt. Daryl was sure he'd inflicted a mortal wound and had no doubt the buck would soon die from it, but night wasn't that far off and he'd already followed the animal through over a mile of thick forests and rough farmland. The deer stopped bleeding at some point, and Daryl had to rely on his finest tracking skills to determine which path it had taken after the blood trail disappeared. The tall grass made it easier, and he was tracking the buck through the overgrown backyard of a modest farmhouse when he instinctively sensed there was something peculiar about the place. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and he knew he needed to stay on the deer, but he noted the location and the direction of travel to take to return to the farmhouse later.

Daryl caught up to the buck right before dark. It had finally fallen dead, and he was grateful not to have to finish it off after it tried so hard to escape. The buck was a monstrous old timer with a thick layer of fat on his back and heavy antlers. Daryl field-dressed the animal in the dark and had to stop periodically to put down encroaching walkers. He used one of his canteens and a rag to rinse and pat dry the inside of the carcass as best he could, and he propped the cleaned cavity open with a couple of sticks. Then he took a coil of rope from his pack, slung one end up over a branch of a sprawling oak overhead and tied the other end to the deer's massive antlers. 

He felt like his balls were rising into his throat at times like these, because nobody could keep track of all the herds anymore. There were too many, and then there was the horde, which regularly shed and birthed new herds of two to four dozen walkers to wander off in their own direction undetected. Being outdoors alone at night was almost more dangerous now than it had been since the Turn.

Another four walkers materialized out of the darkness and Daryl quickly dispatched them, his eyes searching his dimming surroundings for more. The night was still. He caught hold of the rope and tugged and pulled the deer up in short, strenuous jerks until it's rear legs dragged the ground, then tied the rope to the tree. He skillfully skinned the animal and rolled the pelt into a bundle that he tied to the antlers. He retrieved a cotton sheet from his pack and he wrapped and tied it around the carcass to keep blowflies and other insects off the meat. Daryl untied the rope from the tree and laboriously hoisted the deer into the air until it was swinging well out of the reach of walkers. He wrapped the rope twice around the trunk of the tree, then tied it securely to a large branch, picked up his pack and his crossbow and headed back toward the farmhouse at a jog.

There were two growling herds of walkers roaming the property when he returned to it. One group milled around near an exterior wall, the others were spread out in a line drifting drunkenly up and down along the fence. Daryl ducked low in the tall grass and backed slowly away until he was at the base of a big tree. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and climbed carefully up to perch on a heavy limb about twenty feet off the ground, where he watched and waited for nearly two hours before the walkers finally wandered off. Daryl's joints had stiffened up and begun to pain him considerably while sitting there, and on the way down the trunk, he lost a foothold, slipped, and fell the last several feet to land face first on the ground with a loud "Oooff!" He lay there stunned, the wind knocked out of him.

*********

He should have gone home hours ago, and Carol was going to be worried. Daryl knew that she knew he could take care of himself, but both of them had a constant, gnawing anxiety about losing the other now. Their workaround for this was to avoid separation as much as possible unless it was impractical. Carol had wanted to work on some tasks at home, and now that their food preserves were sufficient to get them through the coming winter, Daryl wanted to bring in what extra meat he could to help the less fortunate households in the settlement. 

The Whisperer war had left widows and orphans and cripples in its wake. As a de facto leader of the community -- Michonne having preemptively designated him as her proxy -- Daryl took it upon himself to help provide for them until they could get on their feet and make their own contributions. He would keep the hide, antlers, and tendons, along with the tenderloins from the big whitetail hanging in the tree, but the rest would be donated to and divided between the community kitchen and those families without a hunter or tradesman to feed them. 

Barter was the currency of the day, but Daryl refused to accept any payment for his donations of wild game. If he couldn't be with Carol, or with the fam, then he wanted to be in the woods, he needed to be in the woods. Lydia, Judith, or both sometimes went hunting with him. R.J. had zero interest in most of the world outside the walls in general and that was just fine with the fam. Daryl started out teaching him how to braid lines and cords for snares, and R.J. had recently graduated to braiding fishing lines and tying flies. Daryl never discouraged him, but he was sometimes annoyed when he was in the mood to make a Marauder or a streamer and would find R.J. occupying himself at Daryl's fly tying table and wrapping better looking lures than anything his uncle produced. 

Lydia was fast becoming a master with the bow and it did Daryl's heart good to see the pride she radiated after taking down a wild boar that would become roasts, chops, hams and bacon for the fam. Judith was a good hunter, but she hated killing anything and more often declined to go on a hunt. She still took after her parents by getting involved in and busying herself with community affairs. In Michonne's absence, Judith continued updating her mother's journals and ledgers with the settlement's statistics: How many people lived there, how old they were, how many families and the number of members and ages of each. Keeping census style records helped the council to determine how much food and fuel was needed to get them all through the winter months. It was Judith who clued them in that there were still too many hungry families in Alexandria.

For all that they were not blood relatives, Daryl had noticed Carol, Lydia and Judith all had damn near the same brilliant smile. It was a smile that lit up their entire beings and everything in the near vicinity. When he was surrounded by this trio of glorious beauties, all beaming at him as if he were something special, Daryl was convinced his life was too good to be real, that he must have died and gone to heaven and forgotten he croaked along the way. The three of them could shine their love on him like a blanket of light so bright he felt like he needed sunglasses to bear it. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, or for R.J., and every day he spent in their company he was astounded and humbled by his own increasing capacity for love. 

**********

Daryl's never-diminishing determination to return to the fam spurred him to shake off the impact of his fall and drive himself up on to his knees from the piece of earth he'd so recent and abruptly met up close. He sucked in a breath and tried not to cough from the dust he'd inhaled. A sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs informed him he'd likely cracked at least one of them when he hit the ground. He had landed on his front, so his crossbow and pack, slung across his back, were intact. His knives were both seated firmly in their scabbards and had landed flat against his hips. 

"You're one lucky sumbitch tonight," he rasped, still trying not to gag from the dirt on his tongue. He spat twice and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. For the first time he could remember, he felt his age. He was too old to be out here alone field dressing deer and falling out of trees in the dark. He staggered to his feet and brushed the dirt and leaves off himself, and took a minute to gather his bearings. No new walkers had appeared. The season for katydids and crickets had passed, and the night was still except for the rustle of an occasional leaf falling.

Daryl picked his way back along the trail he'd left through the grass to the farmhouse yard. It was here he'd detected something was a little off. Now, in full dark, the anomaly was much harder to detect. He paced back and forth across the length of the yard, muttering to himself beneath his breath. It was his good fortune the night was so quiet. He heard the creak of the door in the ground and felt it dip just a little, as he walked over the top of it. 

He looked around to make sure no walkers were about, then dropped to his knees and dug his fingers blindly around the base of the tall grasses until he found first one metal ring the size of his fist, then a second ring. He ran a doubled length of rope through them and pulled steadily, straining, until he felt and heard the roots of the sod breaking and snapping apart and the door attached to the other end of the rings lifted up an inch with a groan. Another three slow, steady tugs and he was able to lift the door all the way up and open. The hinges grated with rust. A layer of soil and grass had grown over the top of the trapdoor and Daryl was careful not to displace it. He fished a small flashlight out of his pack and shone it into the space beneath. 

An aluminum ladder was secured to and descended down a tunnel into the darkness. Daryl couldn't make out anything else down there except he could see the ladder had a bottom and there was a floor or the ground -- he wasn't sure -- a foot below the last rung. The air inside the space seemed undisturbed and he detected no smell of walker or human or rot. He took one of his knives from its sheath and held it between his teeth as he eased his body around the edge of the door and stepped cautiously onto the ladder. It held. 

Daryl had the fleeting thought that, should something happen down here in the hole, the fam might never know what became of him. Carol would search to the ends of the earth, that much he knew, and it hurt his heart to think of her suffering that emotional pain. It would be so much worse for her than the years spent looking for Rick had been for Daryl. He still suffered over his inability to find his lost brother. He realized he hadn't really thought this out at all. There was no knowing what was down there. It was a damn hole in the ground. Literally. It could be a treasure trove, or a trap. It probably wasn't worth risking his life for.

He heard the snarls of walkers coming around the side of the house, and this development helped to make up his mind for him. He slipped quickly into the space beneath the door and eased it back down on the ground overhead. Grass roots dangled from the sides of the door and a scatter of dirt rained down on him like tiny pebbles. Daryl carefully descended the ladder, counting eleven rungs before feeling a gap, then his feet touched solid ground again. He took his knife from between his teeth and held it in his right hand, flashlight in the other, and surveyed his surroundings.

A single passageway, high enough to stand up in, led straight away from the ladder, and there was a second, smaller passageway to the left. To the right was an alcove, a recess of about five feet by five feet. Six large, hard-sided plastic totes with lids were stacked within the space and sealed with duct tape. A tarp was draped loosely over the top of them. 

Daryl turned away from the totes and followed the passage that traveled straight ahead. At the end of the passage was a heavy door. The door had a crude handle on it, a U-shaped piece of metal, and he gave it a slow pull. The hinges groaned low in protest, but the door opened easily, and he cast his light around in the space within. 

Daryl started to smile. The more he looked around, the wider his smile became. This was going to be perfect. It was exactly what they'd been looking for. The only real test they needed was to determine how soundproof it was, and he would bring Carol out here with him for that piece of it. If this was ultimately going to be their secret boudoir, then no one else could know about it. In the meantime, this was as good a place as any to spend the night, and he still needed to check out the rest of the bunker.

The room he stood in now was about twelve by twelve feet, with shelves all along the far wall stacked full of home canned food, dry goods, blankets, guns and ammunition. The stuff in the canning jars was years old and although everything looked fine, he knew it wasn't worth the risk. There was flour, sugar and cornmeal, undoubtedly stale, but otherwise well preserved in plastic bins, also taped closed and sealed. He cut the first four bins open to determine their contents, and left the rest sealed. Two futons were folded up and leaning against the wall, the mattresses rolled and plastic-wrapped alongside. Daryl started to pull one of them out and set it up -- he was exhausted -- but decided to check out the rest of the bunker before he let down his guard. You never knew what you might find or what might be waiting for you in this world, and he was tired of ugly surprises.

He traveled back through the passageway to the ladder and turned right. This passageway was much longer and tunnel like, and eventually led to another shaft with a ladder leading up out of the darkness. Daryl ascended the ladder and determined there was a latch on his side of the door at the top of it, and the latch was engaged. No one and nothing had come down from that door into the bunker in years. It was the middle of the night and Daryl didn't want to risk potentially opening a trapdoor into a herd of walkers, so he went back down the ladder and returned to the alcove, where he lifted one of the totes off the stack and cut the tape seal with his knife. He expressed his amazement in typical Dixon dialect.

"I'll be damned," he breathed softly, shining his light onto and over the contents of the tote, "Holy shit! Holy fuckin' shit. Thank you, Jesus." He then replaced the lid and opened and reviewed the contents of the other five totes. With each seal his knife opened, he grin grew wider until his mouth ached from smiling. He chuffed out a happy noise, stacked the totes back in their place and pulled the tarp back over them. 

He retreated to the main cavity of the bunker, where he set up a futon and unrolled one of the spotless mattresses out on it. He pulled the big door closed to cut down on the draft from the passageways, and noticed there was a bolt-type latch on the inside of the door. Daryl left it unlocked. He selected three of the dozen or so blankets on the shelf, and when he dislodged the stack, he found six boxes of long, dripless candles and an equal number of metal candle holders. This time, he laughed out loud, and noticed there was no echo in the room. 

The floor and the walls looked like adobe, but after touching it, he determined it likely some kind of concrete. Three of the walls had a niche apiece with ventilation holes leading up, out and away. Daryl wondered where they broke the surface into the open air. He could detect a tiny draft coming from two of them, so they probably traveled all the way to the outside and the third was just overgrown. He put two of the candles in the holders, lit them with his Zippo and set them into a niche, where the pair of them fit perfectly. The flames flickered and danced from the faint drift of fresh air coming through the ventilation hole.

Feeling proud of himself for making this discovery and confident that no one else had seen him enter the bunker or even knew it was there, Daryl set down his pack and crossbow, kicked off his boots, curled up on the futon, and wrapped himself in the blankets. He dug boar jerky, a hunk of bread and some dried plums from his pack. He was ravenous and devoured every last bite of food he'd brought with him. He had one canteen of water remaining and sipped it sparingly. The food and the blankets warmed his tired body and he yawned. He got up to extinguish the candles before laying down to sleep.

**********

Daryl awakened and left the bunker well before first light. He was upright, ready to go and ascending the ladder within minutes of opening his eyes. He wanted to try and make it back before Carol came looking. If she was the one unexpectedly gone all night, he knew he'd be an absolute wreck by now. She had already lost so many loved ones, he felt guilty just imagining what she was going through. Daryl had no idea how long he had slept. He did sleep though, surprisingly well, considering he now felt like a horse had kicked him in the side with a spike-shod hoof. He clamped a hand to his side and grimaced through a brief bout of coughing. There was nothing in his pack to bind his ribs with. He'd wrapped the entire sheet around the deer. 

He didn't want to cut up one of the blankets because he had future plans for them. He finally tore two wide strips from the bottom of his t-shirt, enough to cinch each snug over the ribs that hurt the most. He'd had broken ribs before and was certain these were cracked and not broken because he could still manage to breathe without agony. He realized he was in no shape to retrieve the deer by himself, and he set out early to get reinforcements to return for it before the day got too warm. 

Daryl left everything in the bunker as he'd found it. He wasn't about to attempt to pack out the dry goods, and he had plans for this place and the things he'd found in it. He would eventually transport most of the dry goods back to Alexandria for the community pantry, but he needed to first come up with a story for where and how he found them. He intended to keep the bunker and most of its contents a secret. No one else would know about it, except for Carol. He couldn't wait to show it to her.


	2. Fam Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl hasn't returned from his hunt when expected and Caryl is home with the fam and getting more than a little anxious...

When Daryl didn't return from his hunt before dark, Carol assumed the worst. They had spent only three nights apart since their first night together, and those were all prearranged and expected. Except for their burning need for more privacy, they were extremely happy, crazy about each other and blissfully in love, so it made sense to Carol their mutual euphoria couldn't possibly last. Every day a voice in the back of her mind told her she definitely didn't deserve what they had together, that the weeks of happiness experienced so far were only temporary and an anomaly and it would all soon crash to an agonizing, wrenching halt.

As darkness fell and Daryl still hadn't come back, Carol felt like she was going a little further out of her mind with every passing minute. In a desperate attempt to occupy her brain, she did all of the laundry, cleaned the entire house, cleaned every gun, sharpened every blade and baked four loaves of bread. The fam all cast her looks of some concern, but they also stayed well out of her way. All of them had learned it was better to just let her have her space when she was agitated or upset. The only person who could talk her down from a ledge was Daryl, and his unexpected absence was the reason she was dangling from one now.

All night long, Carol alternately performed chores, then walked out to the gate and waited a while, then returned to the house and did more chores, then walked back to the gate. If not for Judith and R.J. and the very real possibility that Carol might soon be their only living adult guardian, she would have left to find Daryl on her own before dusk. These separations, they killed her, she just knew that one day one of them would go outside the walls and never return. It haunted her. She believed she'd done nothing to earn or entitle her to to such happiness, and it was going to be ripped from her grasp sooner or later.

"Why don't you go lie down for a while," Lydia suggested, trying to be supportive. "I'll wait out by the gate and when he shows up, I'll wake you soon's he gets here."

"Thanks, I'm good," Carol replied with a strained smile, hugging herself with her arms. To her surprise, Lydia approached her and reached out to grasp her shoulder gently. 

"He's gonna be all right," she said. "He probably got caught out after dark and decided it was safer to shelter in place. Daryl doesn't take chances unless he has to." She released her grip and let her hand drop to her side. "You know he wouldn't want you to stay up all night waiting and worrying, even if he was dead."  
Carol gaped at her wordlessly for a long moment before regaining her ability to speak. "Oh. My. God. Did you just --- Is that supposed to be funny, Lydia?"

"I guess," the girl replied, backing up a couple steps as Carol turned on her with blazing eyes. "You're not worrying about Daryl now... right? Mission accomplished."

Carol stared at her a moment, then reached out and pulled Lydia to her and held her in a fierce hug. Lydia froze in her embrace, uncertain whether Carol was holding her in affection, or as some kind of warning. It didn't feel like a motherly hug, but neither was it threatening, although the mental image of Carol tightening her hold and gradually suffocating Lydia like a boa constrictor did occur to the girl.

Carol had seen from the outline that Lydia had the keys to Daryl's bike in her back pocket, and she used the unsuspected embrace to pluck them from her possession. She released her and backed away, waving the key ring at Lydia. "What's this? Going for a ride in the dark?"

Lydia sulked, annoyed that her plan was revealed and foiled before she'd had a chance to execute it. "The bike comes with a headlight. That's an invention that makes light in the dark."

"Don't be smart," Carol warned. "What would Daryl think if he knew you were planning something like that? He wouldn't be proud. He'd be pissed off and you know it."

"Like you ever worried about pissing Daryl off," Lydia shot back. "I remember the stuff you put him through before."

"Fam?" Judith's plaintive voice rang down from the top of the stairs. "Are you guys fighting?"

"Go back to bed Judith, sweetie, it's late," Carol said in a motherly tone, still glowering.

"Are you fighting with Lydia? Did Uncle Daryl come home?" 

"Yes, and no," Lydia answered.

"Lydia," Carol began, haltingly. Lydia was Daryl's daughter now, that made her Carol's daughter, too. She needed to find a way to deal with this."I don't know what to say."

She could be honest and tell the uncomfortable truth, or she could attempt to fabricate a lie that was good enough to get past Lydia's natural radar. Carol decided her chances were better with the former. 

"I have put Daryl through it. More than once. Every time I caused him trouble or pain, and there are a lot..." she faltered and cast her gaze to her feet, "...a lot of those times. I'll live with them for the rest of my life, I regret them all, and I think about it every single day." She drew in a long, slow breath. "But," she continued, looking back up at Lydia, "I am not going to just sit here and wring my hands while his teenaged daughter goes running off into the night in search of him. In a world full of walkers and who knows what other monsters on two legs, let alone four. Do you even know which direction he went? Or how to ride the bike?"

"Well, no..." Lydia admitted, twisting her fingers together. She was momentarily stunned by Carol declaring her Daryl's daughter. Saying it out loud made it real. The permanence and belonging the term implied sent a surge of unexpected emotion through the vulnerable teen. "How hard can it be?" She asked. "And if he went hunting, he probably went after deer and -- "

" --- and deer are everywhere," Carol concluded. "Absolutely everywhere. You wouldn't find him. You'd just get lost or injured yourself and then I'd have both of you to freak out over."

"You'd freak out over me if I disappeared," Lydia said flatly. "Right."

"Do you think I wouldn't worry about you, or look for you?" Carol asked. "That'd I'd just...I don't know... " she shrugged dramatically, "... just go on living my life and not give it another thought? We looked for you before, you know. Couldn't find you, because Negan --"

"Fam?" Judith's plaintive voice rang down from the top of the stairs. "Are you guys fighting?"

"Go back to bed Judith, sweetie, it's late," Carol said in a motherly tone, still glowering.

"Are you fighting with Lydia? Did Uncle Daryl come home?" 

"Yes, and no," Lydia answered.

"Lydia," Carol began, haltingly. Lydia was Daryl's daughter now, that made her Carol's daughter, too. She needed to find a way to deal with this."I don't know what to say."

She could be honest and tell the uncomfortable truth, or she could attempt to fabricate a lie that was good enough to get past Lydia's natural radar. Carol decided her chances were better with the former. 

"I have put Daryl through it. More than once. Every time I caused him trouble or pain, and there are a lot..." she faltered and cast her gaze to her feet, "...a lot of those times. I'll live with them for the rest of my life, I regret them all, and I think about it every single day." She drew in a long, slow breath. "But," she continued, looking back up at Lydia, "I am not going to just sit here and wring my hands while his teenaged daughter goes running off into the night in search of him. In a world full of walkers and who knows what other monsters on two legs, let alone four. Do you even know which direction he went? Or how to ride the bike?"

"Well, no..." Lydia admitted, twisting her fingers together. She was momentarily stunned by Carol declaring her Daryl's daughter. Saying it out loud made it real. The permanence and belonging the term implied sent a surge of unexpected emotion through the vulnerable teen. "How hard can it be?" She asked. "And if he went hunting, he probably went after deer and -- "

" --- and deer are everywhere," Carol concluded. "Absolutely everywhere. You wouldn't find him. You'd just get lost or injured yourself and then I'd have both of you to freak out over."

"You'd freak out over me if I disappeared," Lydia said flatly. "Right."

"Do you think I wouldn't worry about you, or look for you?" Carol asked. "That'd I'd just...I don't know... " she shrugged dramatically, "... just go on living my life and not give it another thought? We looked for you before, you know. Couldn't find you, because Negan --"

"have I done to make you think you're not welcome?"

"You're always asking Uncle Daryl to leave with you," Judith piped from her perch, halfway down the stairs.

"To leave? For a couple of days, maybe..."

"You guys leave a lot," Judith chastised with a pout. "We're only children. We're supposed to have adult supervision."

Carol shot her a look of disbelief. "You've killed walkers," she said. "Dozens of them, maybe even a hundred. You know how to use a sword, a knife, and a gun. You manage the community census. You're more adult than most of the adults here."

"Thanks, but that's not the point," Judith said lightly, sitting down on the stairs to lean against the railing.

Lydia was hunched over on the couch, Judith seated midway down the stairs, with Carol standing in between them. Carol was feeling distraught, overwhelmed, and utterly exhausted. She thought of Daryl out there somewhere in the dark, and imagined walkers getting a hold of him and tearing him apart, of never being able to find him because there wouldn't be enough left to identify. Or worse yet, finding him because there was just enough of him left to be certain. 

Her legs didn't want to hold her up any more. She crumpled gracefully onto the hardwood floor at her feet, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. The girls didn't know what to do. They had never seen Carol cry, or ever heard of her crying at all. Many things about Carol were a mystery to them, but how she felt about Daryl wasn't. Lydia remained on the couch and Judith rose and descended the stairs to sit on the couch next to Lydia, not speaking. Neither attempted to approach or reassure Carol, yet the girls' continued presence in the room was more comfort to her than they knew. She had promised not to abandon them, and in their own way, they were both choosing not to abandon her, either.

When her nose started running to the point where she had to deal with it, Carol lifted her head and vigorously wiped the snot from her face with her sleeve and wiped what had dripped into her hands on her pants.

"Daryl would be so proud," said Lydia.

Carol choked out a little laugh. "Wouldn't he, though?" She sniffled and managed a tiny smile. 

She looked from one of them to the other with desperation in her eyes. "I love him," she cried. "We just... we... I... we think we make you... uncomfortable? Sometimes? and we don't want to do that... but we need to... oh god, this is so awkward... we want to... god damn it..."

"Language!" Judith warned.

"We just want to have sex!" Carol explained, much more loudly that she'd intended to say it, her whole body cringing, but it was the truth and she was determined not to lie to them. She reminded herself again there was nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for. "We want to have sex... and we thought it was... easier for everyone if we ... just go and... do it someplace else." Her face was so hot it felt as if her skin was on fire. "We don't want you to feel weird about it, and we don't want to feel weird about it, either..."

"Cant you just be... quieter?" Judith asked cautiously.

Carol raised her blazing face to them, wondering vaguely what shade of scarlet she'd assumed. "No. No, we can't." To her surprise, a tiny giggle burst from her. "Sorry, not sorry."

Lydia and Judith watched her wordlessly. The silence was alarmingly loud, Lydia finally broke it. 

"So you and Daryl have sex every time you go on a run," she stated. It wasn't phrased as a question.

"No! No, I mean... sometimes?" Carol buried her face in her hands again, not sure whether she was laughing or crying at this juncture. "God, this is so embarrassing..." she wailed, voice muffled against her palms. "You don't... you can't... You will... one day --"

"Ohmahgawd," Lydia moaned, channeling Daryl. "Stahp."

They fell silent again but remained in their places, Carol eventually dropping her hands from her face into her lap. She stayed sitting cross-legged on the floor, her head hanging down and tendrils of her silver hair dangling. She almost laughed when she thought of how concerned Daryl was about his ability to raise and care for the fam, while Carol, who'd been-there-done-that multiple times, was doing a damn fine job of fucking things up all by herself in less than a day. Carol knew she had to say or do something. Lydia needed to understand beyond any doubt that she was not responsible for their repeated absences.

"We don't leave because of you," Carol explained, not looking up. "Not ever. We just want to spend some time alone. If either of us did anything to make you think it was for any other reason? It's not." She wiped her face again, this time with the opposite sleeve and sighed wearily, making brief eye contact before looking away across the room without focusing on anything in particular. 

"Daryl and I, we don't know how to... juggle everything there is to juggle, now. You know? We're... explorers in uncharted territory. We're trying to figure it out as we go along and obviously some things are... easier to work through." Carol looked back at them with red-rimmed eyes. She tried to smile but the weight of Daryl's absence and Lydia's feelings of rejection made it difficult.

"What do you need, Lydia? Tell me? How can I... make things better?" She offered a tentative smile to them both. "We're all part of the same fam."

"I thought you didn't want to be around me," Lydia explained. "because of my mom, and... what happened to Henry." Carol flinched. 'That isn't why you're always leaving, though. I get it, now." Lydia watched her with guarded eyes, chewing anxiously on her thumb. It was clear this part of the conversation was over and Carol was relieved, although the issue hadn't exactly been resolved. 

Carol felt a pang of remorse. She hadn't been cognizant of the extent of Lydia's feelings of rejection. Too many people had treated the girl like a pariah since Daryl took her in. Carol had experienced social rebuffs herself. Yumiko using her as punching bag came quickly to mind. The general hostility of the settlements toward the teenager was more subversive after Negan killed Margo, and no one had openly harassed her since, but nobody was trying to befriend, welcome nor accept her, either. It occurred to Carol, not for the first time, how lonely Lydia had been, and still was, outside of the fam. 

Lydia had shared a little about her life as a Whisperer. She'd told them about the brutal murders her mother committed. She'd told them about the rapes, an everyday happening in the pack Alpha both condoned and encouraged. "We are all animals," she'd say. "Rape is a natural occurrence." Lydia told them about the Whisperers' mantra, and Carol and Daryl figured out pretty quick that when somebody's cult credo contained phrases like "we embrace our death," and "we love nothing," it was bound to mess with their mind and impede the ability to develop meaningful human relationships.

Lydia watched her from her seat on the couch, and unfurled a little from her crouched position.

"Why aren't we out looking for Daryl?" she asked plaintively. "He wouldn't just sit and wait if it was one of us out there." Judith gave a sniffle from beside her and nodded agreement.

Carol's glance flickered back and forth between them, unsure of how to handle the question. Lydia was right. If the situation were reversed, Daryl would have been searching already, but he was already better out there than anyone else alive. In the natural world, be it grass or water or trees, day or night, wind, rain or sun, he was in his element. Of all the citizens the settlements had picked up over the years, there was still not one person who even came close to matching his symbiosis with the earth... except for Lydia. 

Lydia had lived as a Whisperer and in close proximity to nature in a manner so raw, intimate and uncomfortable the vast majority sought to avoid anything resembling it. She had slept on the bare ground, lived outside, and worn the decomposing skins of the dead on her face, up close and personal, for hours, if not days on end. She still snatched up and ate the occasional worm or insect like it was no big deal. Protein was protein. To the girl's great pride, she had even once grossed Daryl out, no small achievement. 

"We can't," Carol said with finality. "It's dark now and the horde's out there somewhere with all the smaller herds it keeps shedding off. I want to look for him too, but we shouldn't. Not yet. It isn't safe."

"So what are we going to do?" Judith asked. 

Carol got to her feet, started to wipe her face with her sleeve again, and paused. She stared at something on the sleeve and made a face, then took her jacket off, wiped both hands on it and tossed it against the wall.

"We're going to wait," she said. She started to smooth out her pants with her hands, then remembered what she'd recently wiped on them and smoothed out her blouse, instead. "Your Uncle Daryl, if he went hunting where I think he did, it's at least five miles out. Even if he started back at dawn it would take him a couple hours to get home." She could taste the word on her tongue, it tasted like comfort and sunlight. Home. One more invaluable treasure to be torn away and burnt to the ground.

"I thought you said you didn't know which direction he went," said Lydia.

"Did not," Carol countered swiftly. "I asked if you knew which direction he went." 

"Okay, okay...so, do we just sit here now?"

"Well," Carol huffed, "you can both go to bed, or..." she pursed her lips and shot them her side eye, "You can stay up and help me try to wash and buff the floor. I noticed while I was sitting there that it's getting a little dingy."

Lydia rose quickly from the couch and followed Judith upstairs to their rooms without another word.

*********

He dragged himself back to the gates of Alexandria an hour after sunrise.

Aaron and Gabriel were both on patrol when Daryl staggered in, and in spite of his half hearted protests they'd given him an assist with his pack and crossbow, delivering both items to the front door. Daryl leaned against the door frame and gathered himself. Aaron and Gabe had given him the lowdown on Carol's anxiousness the night before, and he was flooded with guilt. 

Negan, heading out to tend the garden, spotted and overheard them and couldn't resist the urge to weigh in. "You look like shit," he remarked cheerfully to Daryl as he passed the fam's stoop. "Rough night? Your girlfriend checked the gate so many times I lost count."

Carol, who hadn't slept all night and finished buffing the floor for the second time half an hour before his return, glanced up from her seat at the table, blue eyes hollow with exhaustion, as Daryl walked in the door. For a long moment she just stared at him, and he couldn't tell what she was feeling or thinking. Her face was a blank slate, but the laser of her gaze pinned and held him and he was riveted to the spot until she released him. 

"You're late," she said lightly.

"I got a deer and fell out of a tree," he explained. It wasn't what he'd expected to come out of his mouth, but it averted any discussion of his tardiness. Carol was out of her chair and on her way to inspect his injury in the next breath. She wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss him until he gasped, but Aaron and Gabe were standing on the stoop behind him in the open doorway, and she knew Daryl hated to feel like he was on display. She insisted on examining and tending his wound before she'd permit anyone to take him back to the tree where he'd left the deer. Daryl wanted to resist her ministrations -- there was no time, the meat might spoil and there was a lot of it -- but Carol laid down an emphatic no, and there wasn't a person alive in the settlement willing to risk her wrath. 

Lydia and Judith heard Daryl's voice and they flew down the stairs and flung themselves at him. He fought valiantly not to cringe or recoil at the agony exploding in his ribs as they embraced him, and even managed to return their hugs before Carol noticed his barely concealed distress. Their eyes met and his clearly conveyed she was to stand down. Carol leaned against the wall and waited, admiring his stoicism in the face of what she suspected was excruciating pain.

Judith released him and stepped away, realizing something was amiss. Lydia drew back, a little embarrassed at her emotional reaction to Daryl's return, and he touched her cheek and smiled. "Suspect you'll be doing most a' the household's huntin' for a while," he told her. "Try not to make me look too bad."

"Are you hurt?" she asked plaintively, searching with her eyes for a wound. There was a lot of blood and miscellaneous material on his clothing from the deer and the walkers he'd killed, making it impossible to tell.

"I fell," he explained. "S'gonna be all right, but I maybe cracked a rib." He saw the horror dawning in their eyes. "S'fine, I'm fine. Wasn't gonna shove ya off. Kinda nice to get a welcome from the fam." He blinked rapidly and ducked behind his fringe. "Feels like a real homecomin.' Like returnin' from the field a' battle or some shit." 

R.J. came running on a trajectory to make a three-point landing on his uncle when the girls both stepped forward to block him. "Don't squeeze him," Judith warned. "He's hurt."

Daryl reached out to grasp R.J.'s shoulder, the next best thing to a welcoming embrace. "Did'ja make anythin?"

"I tied an ant." R.J. declared proudly.

"You did? Hot damn. Gotta see that. Later, though, a'right?" 

"Did you get a deer?" Lydia asked.

"You bet. Big sumbitch. Prolly dressed out around two hundred."

"Back straps?" Lydia asked, turning back to Daryl, her eyes expectant. He nodded. She coiled up to fling herself at him again, saw him tense, steeling himself for the pounce, and she thought better of it.

**********

Carol led Daryl downstairs to their room. Their bed was where the couch used to be, and he sat on the edge of it while Carol carefully pulled his shirt off. He winced when she applied gentle pressure to his ribs. Her haunted, ethereal eyes locked onto his, and he understood everything she'd gone through during the long, uncertain night.

"M'sorry," he apologized as she examined the spreading bruise on his side. "Was just about to turn 'round and come home when I spotted a big ole granddaddy buck on the other side of a field. Got close enough for a shot and the wind kicked up just as I released a bolt." He raised his arm so she could put some salve on the contusion. "The gust deflected it, so I missed the mark by an inch and had to do more trackin' that I'd planned."

She leaned back on her heels, meeting his gaze. "So it wasn't a clean kill. That's not like you, Mr. Crossbow."

"Pfft," he scoffed. "Reckon it was clean enough. Deer's dead, dressed out and ready to do whatever we decide to do with it. I made it back home alive. What more you want?"

"I want the love of my life lying next to me in our bed at night. Is that too much to ask?"

"I said I was sorry, Carol. I am. More'n you know. "We probably can't fuck for a week," he added regretfully. He gingerly touched his side.

"Oh Pookie, it'll have to be longer than that," she murmured, reaching up to brush his fringe out of his eyes. They never tired of touching one another's hair, it was their go-to sign of affection. They permitted themselves this small luxury anytime and anywhere. It was a way to communicate their love without making a big deal or a spectacle out of it. 

No one who was around when it happened had ever quite let them forget the night of their first physical encounter, and while they could laugh about it now with the rest, they would rather that part of their lives together had not become a piece of Alexandrian legend.

"More than a week? Nah, I heal fast."

Carol smirked, but said nothing more about his injury. She carefully taped his cracked ribs and handed him a clean shirt from the closet. 

"They should heal just fine in around six weeks, as long as you're careful and don't whack them with anything. No heavy lifting, crossbow hoisting or axe swinging, either." She stood and extended her hand to help him to his feet. She noticed he took hers with the hand on his good side. When she moved to release him, he held on and drew her close. Carol put her free hand lightly on his hip, cautious about jostling his injured ribs. She tilted her head forward and down to rest against his chest until she could feel his heart beating.

"You scared me to death, Daryl," she choked. "Please don't go out that far, that late, again. I can't stand it. Let the damn deer go next time."

He nuzzled her and kissed the top of her head. "Ain't that the pot callin' the kettle black," he chuckled. "S'nice to be missed. Didn't mean to worry ya. Had a few difficulties, but I found somethin' I can't wait to show ya. Don't tell no one else. It's just for us."

She raised her gaze to his so quickly she nearly head-butted him in the process. Her blue eyes were sparkling and lively. "Did you find our honeymoon suite?"

He nodded, smiling but was also prepared to duck into a defensive cringe if she forgot his injured ribs and moved to embrace him in celebration. "I think I might have, yeah. Dunno if I can show it to you with the others around."

"It can wait," Carol said. "It's not as if we're going to use it today."

"No," he replied, "but we will... soon. I want it to be ready when we are."

"Well don't hurt yourself trying to get there faster," she said. "Bones knit on their own schedule."

"Yeah, that reminds me... what was it you said about six weeks?"

************

Carol reluctantly permitted him to disembark the wagon in order to lead the rest of the group to the tree where he'd strung up the deer. The buck was still hanging in the tree although a dozen walkers had congregated beneath it and had to be dealt with before they could cut the buck down. Daryl was none too happy when one of their "helpers" used a knife on his handmade rope. "Why didn't ya just untie the fuckin' knot?" he growled, annoyed at the work put to waste.

Daryl and Carol stepped away from the group under the premise of Daryl needing a time out due to lasting annoyance over the mutilation of his rope, but really it was so he could show Carol where their potential new hideout was located. He'd deliberately led the recovery party away from the farmhouse, but now the two of them backtracked, following the path he had left in the tall grass the night before, until they reached the overgrown yard. Daryl saw the metal rings were both exposed and he stiffly bent down to scoop up and cast dirt and grass over them until they were concealed. 

Both of them agreed that something needed to be done to better conceal the presence of the trapdoor in the ground. Most people would never notice, but Daryl had, and quickly. It was already a little more visible for having been opened after growing shut for years on end. 

Daryl watched Carol looking at the trapdoor, and he suddenly remembered an important fact that was likely to shut down plans for his new discovery. Carol was claustrophobic. She was claustrophobic and was he really telling her he'd found a hole in the ground for them to screw in? A damn cave, of all places, nothing but walled-in darkness? What the hell was he thinking?

Except that Carol was smiling. Nodding and smiling. "This could work."

He was torn between anticipation and guilt. "You're claustrophobic. Can't believe I forgot. M'sorry."

"No, no, it's good," she encouraged. She actually seemed excited. "We'll figure it out. This is a different type of space and circumstances than the cave, or the CDC. I won't feel closed in when it's our own special place. I can shut my eyes if it's too much... or maybe you'd like to blindfold me..."

"That might be fun," Daryl agreed, still wary, but relieved she hadn't shot it down immediately. 

Carol saw the worry and concern on his face and she reached for his hand. "Daryl, it's all right. Don't beat yourself up. This can work. It's perfect. It's safe, and quiet, it's exactly what we needed."

He scanned her face, looking for cracks in her sincerity. "You sure? We can go back and tell the others we just now found it, and then haul all the shit out and keep lookin.' Got no problem with that." He hesitated, then added. "Found a couple things down there we might wanna keep for ourselves, though."

"I'm sure," she insisted. It'll be great. Really. We can fix it up so it doesn't feel closed in." She reaches up to gently brush a lock of his hair back and out of his eyes, their love signal. "We've both looked long and hard for a place just for us, and I can't wait to investigate it and try it out." She shrugged. "We're going to have to wait a while, though, until your ribs knit."

Six weeks? He mouthed, making the signs for the words at the same time.

Maybe not that long, she signed back. Can still do twoshots, if we're careful. She grinned. Sorry Pookie, no thrusting allowed. Carol didn't know the sign for this and imitated the motion in a comical parody, accompanied by a wicked grin.

Six weeks? Daryl repeated, completely missing the humor.

She gave him the crooked smile and side eye he knew so well. We still have our hands, mouths and tongues, she teased. Use your imagination.

"You're the boss," he conceded. "Ain't gonna even try to defy ya. You know I'd graze on your pasture all the day long if you let me."

Carol blushed but her eyes were full of adoration for him. "I'll take you up on that offer, once we get our honeymoon suite whipped into shape." She reached up and placed a tender kiss on the side of his jaw. "I've been working up quite an appetite, myself."

***********

Before transporting the deer back to the wagon, they unwrapped the sheet and cut the carcass into quarters. Prior to taking it apart, Daryl removed the back straps from either side of the buck's spine. He dropped the choice cuts of meat into a mesh game bag brought from home specifically for this purpose. Carol gave the arm on his good side an affectionate squeeze. He knew she and Lydia were partial to the tenderloins. Daryl untied the rolled-up hide from the antlers and placed it in a second bag. No one else wanted the head, so Daryl pulled a game saw from his pack and removed the antlers to use or trade later. 

Carol wouldn't let Daryl carry anything back to the wagon himself, and the fact he barely resisted told her all she needed to know about how he was feeling. She knew he was in pain. He didn't mention it, but the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when he was hurting, and he was moving more carefully now than earlier. She wished she had or knew of something to give him for it, but all of even the most basic analgesics had expired years before. Siddiq and Enid had learned and absorbed a great deal of knowledge about medicinal plants and herbs and both tragically took most of their knowledge with them to the grave, leaving behind only their notes and jars of various herbs, tinctures, and ointments, one of which Carol had applied to Daryl's bruised ribs earlier.

Four men came back out with them to get the deer, two of them from the community kitchen. Daryl tried not to be too obvious about how badly he was crippling his way back into the wagon. "Need the legs for the sinew," he told them. "Rest of it's half to the kitchen and half to the households that got a need. A'right?"

"You bet," one of the men promised, studying the quarters and already calculating how best to share the wealth. "This meat will feed a lot of people. It was worth coming back for. We'll strip the tendons out for you. It's the least we can do."

"Thanks, man. Appreciate you comin' out to help bring it back."

Daryl barely spoke on the ride home. Carol assumed he was trying to hold it together through the miles of bumping and jostling, sure to pain his injuries. She suspected, from the way he was moving, that he'd also injured his spine in the fall. He tended to heal quickly from most wounds and she was still amazed at how rapidly he'd recovered from Alpha's near-fatal stab into his leg. His capacity for rejuvenation reminded her of the way some lizards grew their tails back. 

He would try to do too much though, that was always his way, so when they arrived back in Alexandria, Carol hustled him into the house before he could come up with some task requiring his participation.

"Stahp. I ain't elderly or invalid yet," Daryl protested as she steered him toward their room. "You gonna gimme a bath and tuck me in?"

"If you're lucky. You were a bad boy, staying out all night without phoning home."

"Prob'ly deserve to be punished, huh?" He asked.

"Prob'ly," she agreed, nudging him into their room and closing the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing dialogue is hard and I'm very rusty. Not really around kids much, either. You won't see baby fics from me any time soon.
> 
> Don't be afraid to let me know what you think... especially if I put my foot in it.


	3. An Unexpected Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caryl chill out with the fam while Daryl recovers

Carol wanted to barbecue the tenderloins over an open flame but that was Daryl's specialty, and he was out of commission until further notice. When he started to insist, she wielded the big cast iron skillet in a two-handed grip like a club and invited him to sit his ass down before she put him on it. He raised his hands in mock surrender and sank into a chair. He had showered and changed and the ends of his hair were still damp and dripped onto the shoulders of his clean tee-shirt while he watched Carol cook.

She pan seared the steaks in butter, seasoning them with an assortment of herbs and some fresh ground pepper. Pepper was one of those things there was still plenty left of in the world, even a decade after the apocalypse. She sliced and fried thick potato rounds in the same skillet and steamed some broccoli spears. The rich smell of the cooking meat drove Dog out of his mind and he got underfoot until Carol asked the fam to take him out. The kids took him down the street and begged him a big leg bone from the community kitchen and gave it to him in the yard, where he gnawed in bliss until after dark.

The fam always tried to eat together when everyone was home. It was a way to stay connected when traditions that were mundane in the world before, like family dinners, were special occasions no matter how often they took place. The world was still upside down, and if they could feel like they'd taken a little piece of that and turned it right side up, it was progress. 

At the table, Daryl answered the fam's rapid fire questions about his hunt and the deer. He purposely avoided mentioning either the bunker or the farmhouse. He fabricated a story of sleeping in the tree because it not only supported the fact that he was barely able to move now and explained how he could have fallen out of said tree, it also answered their inquiries about where he'd spent the night. Carol caught his eye in the middle of his yarn and winked as she was setting out a plate of sliced bread.

For a time there was only the happy chatter of the fam and the clinking of cutlery against their plates. Daryl and Lydia laid waste to most of the meat Carol cooked. They ripped off hunks of bread and mopped up the drippings. Judith and R.J. picked delicately at their food. R.J. examined a spear of broccoli as if it were a rare flower, holding it by the stem and rotating and viewing it from all angles.

"Stop playing with your food," said Judith.

"I'm not," he countered, admiring a different angle of the vegetable before eating it in a single bite. 

Daryl's eyes met Carol's across the table. She could tell he was tired, sore, and glad to be home. He reached across the top of the table, brushing dishes and a candle holder aside as she met him halfway and their fingers intertwined. They watched each other, smiling faintly. Daryl could feel burning want and the need for her consume him even as his ribs throbbed and his back ached like a rotten tooth. 

"Pfft!" It was Lydia. She was watching them watch each other. "Save it for your next rendezvous," she scoffed.

"Our next what?" asked Daryl.

Lydia circled her thumb and forefinger together and thrust the index finger of the opposite hand in and out of the O.

Daryl turned to Carol in confusion. "The fuck is this?"

"Language, Uncle Daryl," said Judith.

Carol didn't think she could turn any redder than she had sitting on the floor pleading with the fam the night before. She was mistaken.

"Carol told us about your runs," Lydia taunted, looking at Carol with unclear intent. "That you guys go out there so you can have sex. Because you can only have loud sex and no one else wants to hear that... I can think of some people that probably would, actually, like that Eugene guy. What a creeper."

Daryl's face bloomed pink. "She -- what -- Carol? Carol?" His head swiveled from Carol to Lydia and back to Carol. "What the fuck?" 

Judith let that one go.

Carol shot Lydia a world-weary look and shook her head. "Lydia thought we were going on runs as often as we do to avoid her." She shrugged and made a face. "So I told them the truth."

Daryl scanned the faces at the table: Carol, Lydia, Judith, and R.J. R.J. had no idea what they were talking about, didn't appear to care, and was now inspecting the porous landscape of his sourdough slice from different angles. All three females watched Daryl expectantly.

"Um," he said. "So." He was blushing and sweating and considered blaming the pepper for it, but that would be unfairly criticizing Carol's cooking and he wasn't about to. He awkwardly cleared his throat. "The venison's real good, ain't it?"

"It's totally true," Judith said to Lydia.

"Obviously," Lydia agreed.

Judith shrugged and dug into her plate again. Lydia followed suit. R.J., oblivious to the entire exchange, was enjoying slow, thoughtful bites of his bread. Judith asked Carol to please pass the potatoes. After a beat, Daryl picked up his knife and fork and resumed sawing at the remnants of his third tenderloin. 

Carol put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. "You're all so adorable," she sighed. 

They finished their dinners and the girls helped Carol clear the table while Daryl made his way downstairs with R.J. to inspect and admire the boy's latest accomplishment in fly tying. Judith called Dog in to feed him a plate of table scraps which he inhaled in three or four gulping bites. Daryl and R.J. came upstairs as the rest of the fam were finishing up in the kitchen.

"Uncle Daryl, Aunt Carol? Can we light the fire tonight?" Judith implored.

"Yes, please!" R.J. chimed.

Lydia, unfamiliar with the tradition, was silent. She waited and watched the rest of the fam to determine what it was about.

"The first fire of fall," Judith explained, seeing her puzzlement. "It's the first fire we have indoors after summer's over. It's ready to light, isn't it?" She looked to Daryl.

"That's a great idea, Judith," Carol said encouragingly, giving the table a final swipe with a damp dish cloth. "We can light it tonight to celebrate your Uncle Daryl's safe return."

"Pfft," Daryl puffed. "Ain't like I was in any more danger than usual." He walked over to the hearth, knelt and pulled back the fire screen, stopping to address Carol over his shoulder. "You fixin' hot drinks, then?" he asked. "Lightin' the fire without em's like Christmas without the tree, right?" he added.

"Yeah," Carol said happily. "It is. I'm on it." She put the kettle on and opened the cupboard. "Who wants what? There's rosehip, chamomile, catmint and green tea. And lots of honey."

She lined their mugs up on the counter and added the appropriate ingredients to each while the fam took turns stating their preferences and Daryl touched the flame of his Zippo to the kindling. Lydia had sprawled the length of the couch, but got up quickly when she saw how Daryl sort of staggered to his feet rising from the hearth.

You should lie down here, she signed. Your back.

I'm fine, he signed, and grumped, "Already got one nursemaid, don't need a second." But when the girl moved to a chair and sat, Daryl rearranged the throw pillows on the couch and semi-reclined there, his busted side up, leaving a space for Carol to curl up in and spoon with him after she finished in the kitchen. 

Soon everyone was settled in with a steaming mug and seated near the crackling flames. They shared a companionable and comfortable silence, just sipping tea and enjoying the first fire of autumn. It was a rare moment of shared peace and tranquility and no one wanted to be the first to disturb it. Daryl whispered something into Carol's ear that made her smile and squirm. She had to make a conscious effort not to shift her thighs together. 

"Fractured ribs," she whispered, turning her head to kiss him and take his lower lip gently and briefly between her teeth. "Punctured lung," she mused, "Hemorrhage. Death. Worth it?"

"I may decide to take m' chances," he murmured.

"I'll take care of you, Pookie," Carol promised, shifting all the way around to stroke the side of his face and nudge his nose with hers. "I'll give you whatever you need."

"I can hear you guys," Lydia said loudly, breaking the spell.

Twoshot, Daryl signed with his free hand. 

Now? Carol signed back. 

Yesterday.

She chuckled at that. Wait. Soon.

O.K. Daryl nuzzled the back of her neck contentedly and Carol made a purring sound. She closed her eyes.

Both of them dozed off and woke up hours later, still curled up on the sofa, alone in the living room. The fire had burned down to mostly embers, the rest of the fam having retreated to their rooms some time ago. 

"Kids must'a loaded the fire before they crashed," Daryl murmured. "We been out for a while and there's still a good bed a' coals left." He snaked his hand around her hip, worked open the button on the front of her pants and slid the zipper down.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. He could hear her smiling.

"Givin' the love of my life what she deserves," he whispered back, slipping his hand down the front of her pants and nipping at her ear. There were only the sounds of Carol's breath quickening into short, excited pants and the rhythmic rustling of their clothing as Daryl massaged her into a drenched ecstasy. She moaned, and he brought his opposite hand around to clamp it gently but firmly over her mouth, muffling her cries as she came apart in his arms.

Still twitching with aftershocks, she turned around and caught him wincing as he drew his hand back and shifted around uncomfortably. "That hurt you," she said guiltily. "Daryl."

"S'all right," he said, "Pretty sure I ain't gonna care real soon."

Here? Now?

Please, he signed. Want you.

What about the fam? They'd invented a sign for that concept, too.

"They ain't gonna bother us," Daryl said is his low rasp. "They know what we're doin.' Why ya think they loaded the fire up and left us alone?"

Carol sat up and perched on the edge of the couch, gesturing for Daryl to lie down on his back. Her busy fingers worked his fly open, and she licked her lips in anticipation, then bent down to take him in her mouth. Daryl stroked her hair and tried not to clutch at her head as his pleasure heightened, he eventually used both hands to seal off his own moans as she worked him to an explosive release while the embers on the hearth flickered and rustled and the dying firelight danced up and down on the walls.

"I love you," he said afterward, holding her face between his hands, one thumb gently caressing her swollen lower lip. 

"You better," Carol warned, moving up his body to kiss him, the taste of him still on her tongue and neither of them an ounce shy or squeamish about it. "I love you, too."

They decided to go to their room for another round, but Daryl's injured ribs and spine had other ideas. The jagged bolts of pain that shot through his body when he moved to get up were excruciating, and he actually groaned from the agony. "Jesus, that hurts." He clutched at the arm of the couch and wondered for a moment if he could stand at all.

"Here, let me help you," Carol said, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him just under his arms. She pulled as he pushed and he got painfully to his feet. Lightning bolts of pain were shooting down both his legs. "Shit. Didn't think I'd done that big a number on m'self."

"How far did you fall?' She asked, releasing him and stepping tentatively back, ready to attempt to catch him if he went down.

"I dunno, maybe eight, nine feet?"

"Good God, Daryl, it's a wonder you were able to walk all the way home. Let's get you flat on your back, mister." She tugged him gently toward the stairs to the basement.

"Now, that's what I wanna hear," he said, although both of them knew the moment had passed. He crippled his way down the stairs and spent hours trying not to thrash around in their bed too much, but he was in agony. He had been shot, stabbed and beaten before and nothing had hurt quite like this. The pain seemed to wrap itself around his entire being and hold him hostage. He couldn't escape it. 

Carol sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry," Daryl muttered apologetically. "M'back fuckin' hurts. Like hellfire."

She studied him in sympathy. "Siddiq's herbs and plants are still in the infirmary. I'm going to see if he's got any comfrey in there. Wait here." She flung back the blanket and swung around to get up.

"Aint goin' nowhere and couldn't if I tried," Daryl groaned. He had never felt so immobilized by pain.

Carol soon returned and with a burlap bag stuffed half full of dried comfrey leaves and took it to the kitchen. She soaked several double handfuls in hot water, then tore up a sheet and piled a clump of the wet leaves on a square of the sheet, rolled it up and wrung it out. She did the same with the other half, then picked up the pot of water and took it down to their room with a potholder and the two bundles of wet leaves. 

"What kinda witches' brew you got there?" Daryl mumbled, shifting around in agony.

"It's comfrey. You can't drink it - it pickles your liver - but it makes a good anti inflammatory poultice. Roll over, on your stomach, if you can stand that. Put a pillow under yourself first." 

"That sounds kinky," he cracked in an attempt at humor. He could just barely do as she'd instructed. Carol laid each poultice on either side of his spine. "Does it hurt up higher or right around here?" she inquired, touching his lower back.

"Right there. That shit's hot. Ya gonna burn a hole through me to take my mind off the pain?"

"If it works, don't knock it," she replied cheerfully. "Give it a few minutes. It should help."

Occasionally she removed one of the poultices and soaked it in the hot water to warm it again, then did the same with the second poultice. After three changes, the water cooled too much to reuse, and she noticed Daryl had miraculously fallen asleep. Carol didn't think it was the best thing for him to sleep on his stomach when he had a back injury, but at least he had the pillow underneath him to support his spine. She pulled the blanket up to cover him and sat quietly until he mumbled and shifted painfully onto his side. Carol took the pillow and tucked it up against his lower back, then laid down beside him. This time, both of them slept.

************

It took a good three weeks and most of the comfrey in the infirmary before Carol determined Daryl had healed enough to go outside the walls again. Daryl grumbled and bitched about her restrictions, it wasn't like he broke his goddamn leg, it wasn't like he was sewn together and would come apart if he got jostled for chrissakes, but she didn't back off and he soon did. He would never admit to it, but Daryl rather enjoyed being spoiled and pampered by the fam during his forced convalescence. They designated the living room couch as his until he could sit up without pain, a recovery process that took a good two weeks. They wouldn't hear of him making his own meals and anything he might have merely crossed the room to retrieve, they insisted on fetching for him. 

Daryl wasn't used to having an actual family, although he'd enjoyed his first real taste of one upon moving back to Alexandria and into the brownstone with Carol and the Grimes's. The life he was living now felt like a family life... or at least it felt the way he imagined a real family life to be. They ate most meals together and spent their evenings around the fire. Sometimes the fam would all share stories about their day, or they discussed both on going issues and things of no importance. There were occasional, minor dramas, easily resolved. 

Judith and R.J. had all but stopped asking about or mentioning Michonne. Nobody received word of her, nor heard from anyone else who had. If she was still alive, then wherever she was, she was likely to stay put for the winter. The fam tentatively hoped she would return in the spring, and at the same time, they started to move on.

Carol and Daryl spend the majority of Daryl's involuntary intermission at home, and they didn't have too much about their days they cared to share with the fam, who would have been not at all surprised to learn they spent much of the time together in their bed, holding each other, occasionally turning twoshots into threeshots, and talking. 

They took full advantage of their unexpected opportunity to slow down and share everything. They spoke of their lives and experiences before they'd met, going back as far as they could remember. They told each other everything and held back nothing. They shared the hopes and dreams they'd held when they were young and not yet annihilated by the world. They talked about the mutual friends they had loved and lost and still missed in their lives. They talked about the kids and the local goings-on. They talked about their future. 

Daryl would never have assumed domesticity to be his jam, but he was enjoying this phase of his life infinitely more than any other. He was used to always being in constant motion, always outdoors, always thinking and planning, stressing out, and working. Carol wouldn't let him do much of anything now except to lie around with her as they shared their stories and fondled each other. Not that he was going to complain. In spite of the physical pain from his ribs and his spine, he was currently experiencing some of the greatest happiness he'd ever known.

Lydia hunted nearly every day. Daryl felt guilty about it, he knew that she knew he'd intended to help feed several other families. He was almost certain that's why she was doing it, as she donated most of the game she brought in to the community kitchen. It also gave Lydia an excuse to go outside the walls and get away from the disapproving eyes of those who still barely tolerated her. She knew how to move among walkers and didn't fear them the same way everyone else did. Traveling in a herd almost felt like coming home. She had a couple of Whisperer masks she hid from the others, and she usually took one with her and slipped it on whenever she was far enough outside the walls. 

The mask didn't work very well if she tried to use it after walkers had already spotted her as a breather, so she wore it most of the time when she was alone in the field. If anyone mentioned the smell on her return, she would say she'd run into and had to kill a few walkers. The mask had also come in handy for observing other people at a distance, and sometimes even up close. No one expected or searched for a live person in a cluster of walkers. Lydia could avoid contact with while closely observing strangers just by blending in with a herd.

Carol remained inside the walls with Daryl and rarely even left the house. She wore her pink chenille robe every morning. She said she was happy, and she seemed to be happy, so the fam took her at her word and let her do her thing. She taught Judith and Lydia how to can and preserve food, and while the girls were excited about the concept, hours spent snapping washtubs full of green beans by hand as prep work was not exactly what they had in mind. They canned beans, peas, carrots, tomatoes and potatoes. Then they canned pears, and set the jars alongside the fig and cherry preserves prepared earlier in the year. 

Carol had already canned four deer that fall, averaging around twenty jars per animal. The cooking process reduced the volume of the meat so much the jars were full when they went into the pressure canner, and half full when they came out of it. The canned venison was falling-apart tender and tasted like roast beef. No one else's canned venison was quite like Carol's and it was a high value barter item on the rare occasion they chose to trade a jar. She had canned some of the pork, too. Daryl was brining and smoking several hams before his mishap and he was grateful when Aaron offered to take that task on, as well as assuming responsibility for tanning the deer hide Daryl brought home.

The apples were ready for harvest and the fam coached Lydia through her first cider pressing. Carol made pies and tarts and they drank hot cider around the fire in the evenings. All three of the kids had stepped up and assumed responsibility for filling the wood box and other moderate lifting ordinarily assumed by Daryl. Other members of the community also stepped in and pretty soon the fam needed for nothing except maybe a few more hands to process and preserve all the food and miscellaneous supplies people were bringing them.

They would occasionally find a big stack of firewood, or a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables on the porch. Negan was responsible for most of the community garden's success this year. Like Lydia, he was shunned by the majority of Alexandrians, so he occupied himself with the usually solitary pastime of tending the settlement's vegetable plot. In exchange for his often extensive labors, he took certain liberties with the harvest. He wasn't greedy or unreasonable and no one challenged or questioned him. He was, after all, still Negan.

"Negan's been leaving things on the porch," Carol confided to Daryl. She'd taken a tray down to him for lunch and perched on the edge of the bed while he sat up and ate. "I don't know if either of the girls has figured out that it's him, but they will."

"What kinda stuff?"

"Oh, produce from the garden, stacks of wood. He left some sticks of dried tendon this morning. I think they're from the deer we brought back."

"Shit, I forgot about those," Daryl said. "Are you sure it wasn't the kitchen guy brought 'em?"

"I'm sure. I watched him set them down by the front door. It was Negan, all right. Maybe he was delivering them for the kitchen guy? Although as I recall they never offered to dry them and you didn't ask. Maybe Negan did that piece of it. There's nothing for you to do with them now except to pound out the strands...when you can manage that sort of thing again."

"I wonder what the hell he's up to now," Daryl mused. "Negan won't do nothin' unless he's got a reason for it."

"Well, I did open the window for him to redeem himself. Maybe it's just payback," Carol suggested. "I wondered for a second whether he'd poisoned the produce, but he wouldn't do that to the kids or Lydia." She made a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe he's just trying to be nice."

Daryl sighed and chewed his lip. 

"What is it?" Carol asked, reaching out to pet his fringe and brush it back from his eyes. 

"Feel like some useless old man," he complained. "Sittin' my ass down all day. Lyin' in bed at high noon. Takin' naps and shit. People bringin' me things and doin' stuff I should be doin'." He looked at her with real fear in his eyes. "I like it, Carol, an' I don't like that I like it. Is this what bein' lazy is? I aint never been."

"And you think I would know? Gee, Pookie, thanks a lot."

"That fucker you was married to at the Turn. He seemed the lazy type. You waited on his sorry ass hand and foot." Daryl never said Ed's name and referred to him as "that fucker" if he bothered to refer to him at all. It was a way he could still give Ed the finger.

"But now I'm waiting on you, and you're much more appreciative," Carol reassured him, "It's one of the reasons I adore you," she added.

"Only one?" 

"One of many," she asserted. "If you want a list I can start reciting them now, but it might take the rest of the day to get all the way to the end and I have some things I want to do between now and dinner."

Pfft," Daryl scoffed, but she could tell he was pleased. He had finally stopped fighting her about taking it easy during his recovery. He had injured his back once before, and Carol impressed upon him how important it was to avoid demanding too much of his body before it had time to heal. No lifting, no bending over, no sitting or standing for long periods.

"Two weeks," she'd said. "I wanted you on your back for the better part of two weeks. You're nearly there. Can you do it?"

"Maybe. What's in it for me?" He teased.

"Not being in pain for the rest of your life," she answered. "That's whats in it for you. If you're lucky. It's a good trade, you should take it."

"You spend enough of that time in here with me and I promise I'll be good," he coaxed her. "You got anything going on right now? Besides bringing a cripple some lunch?"

"I've always got something going on, but never so important that I don't have time for you. What do you need?"

"Think the doctor prescribed a twoshot," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Help with that?"

She gently pushed on his chest until Daryl laid back on the bed. Carol picked up the tray and set it aside on the floor. Her fingers undid the fly of his pants. "How do you want it?" She reached for him, leaning forward, and he caught her wrist. 

"However you wanna give it. Get rid of them britches and crawl up here and have a seat, first," he said. "I been lying in this bed thinkin' of the taste of you all day."

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. "I don't know, Daryl. Lydia and R.J. are right upstairs."

"They know better than to barge in on us when we're down here and the door's closed," Daryl reassured. "Might see somethin that scars 'em for life. You got both hands free. Muffle yourself," he offered helpfully. "Bite a pillow."

"You should talk," she said, climbing off the bed to remove her pants. 

"You make more noise than me," he said, "you're higher pitched. Easier to hear." 

Carol snorted. "Whatever. I guess that wasn't you moaning so loud when you came the one time that you called in three separate herds of walkers." 

She climbed back up on the bed sans pants and knelt over his face at his insistence. As he eagerly began to work her over, she shivered and clutched the headboard. "Daryl," she whimpered. Even just the thought that he was the one doing this to her was still almost enough to take her right over the edge. She ended up biting on a pillow anyway as he used his tongue and fingers on her until she crested and burst into infinite points of sensation. 

When she became too sensitive for his continued caresses, she shifted off him to scoot down the bed and curl up next to his hip. He barely lifted up, wincing, as she slid his pants down to mid-thigh. Carol raised her eyebrows and licked her lip. "Well," she said as he sprang free, "I see you definitely require some assistance." She took him gently in her hand and gave him couple of long, languid strokes.

"Wanna be inside you," he said. "Won't move. Promise." He lay expectantly as she straddled him and lowered to impale herself. They hadn't had actual intercourse since before his injury and it still surprised her what an incredible turn on it was every single time, feeling him inside of her. They fit together as if made for each other. She tried to be gentle but the friction and sensation got the best of her, and soon she was practically lifting his hips off the bed with the force of her grasp.

"Down, girl," he gasped, holding onto her waist. "Easy now."

She froze. "Am I hurting you? Are you all right?" She knew better than to climb aboard him like that to begin with, injured the way he was, but she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. She felt him beginning to dwindle.

Daryl didn't say anything. Carol sensed he was in pain and considering lying about it. He tried half heartedly to hold her in place, but she wasn't having it, and she carefully unseated herself to crouch down beside him again. She used both hands and her mouth on him and before long Daryl was biting down on the same pillow and feeling as if he were melting into the mattress like a scoop of ice cream on a summer sidewalk. Carol sat up and surreptitiously wiped her lip, smiling. "All better now, Pookie?"

"That was only one," he reminded her, panting. "Wanna go again. Gimme a minute."

"You're insatiable," Carol grinned. "Always suspected you might be. I like it." She stretched out beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, toying with the thatch of coarse hair at his groin, running her fingers lightly through and over it.  
,  
Daryl's abdomen twitched and he snickered. "Tickles," he said. "Stahp."

Carol grinned, resting her warm palm just beneath his navel and waiting expectantly as he gradually recovered. The way his body responded to her touch told her all she needed to know. After years of Ed and his relentless efforts to destroy her self-esteem, Daryl was giving it back to her in slow, luxurious increments. It was never just about him. His singular focus on her was so intense it had taken some getting used to. Carol wasn't sure she was entitled to all that adoration.

"Whatcha thinkin?" Daryl asked. "I can hear your brain workin' hard.'" 

"I was thinking how you're much too good for me," she mused. "You're absolutely everything I ever dreamed of in a man. Don't look at me like that Daryl, it's true. For years I felt lucky to just be your friend, and then, when we... and now we're still... and I know why I love you, I just can't figure out what you see in me."

He frowned. "Then I done a shit job of tellin' you, Carol. You're everything to me." He choked up a little, and cleared his throat. "Everything. You're my life." He reaches over and fondled a tendril of her hair, running the silken silver strands through his fingers. "You always been everything to me. Even when I wasn't sayin' it. I'd do anything for you. Even before we--"

"Shhh," she hushed, beginning to stroke him back to life. She was as familiar with his recovery time now as with her own. She flipped around so she was straddling him and facing the foot of the bed, then got on all fours. He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward his eager mouth. A shiver coursed up her spine and she gave a tiny yelp when he latched onto her again, then she latched onto him. They weren't able to stay quiet for long, and Carol ended up flipping back around and they finished each other with their hands, locked in a passionate kiss that muffled most of their noise. 

Carol carefully crawled over Daryl and pulled his pants back up and buttoned his fly, giving him an affectionate little pat at the finish. She slipped back into her own pants and laid on the bed again and snuggled up against his side. The front door slammed upstairs and footfalls pounded across the floor. "Perfect timing," Carol said. "That would be Judith. She was interviewing a couple of new families this morning."

"Lil' Asskicker's an amazin' kid," Daryl rumbled. "She's gonna be all kinds of somethin' when she grows up. Not that she ain't already, but she's still just a kid. Easy to forget, sometimes."

"It is," Carol agreed. "I wish we knew what was going on with Michonne. She's been gone for quite a while. Longer than I expected." 

"Yeah, me too. Not sure what to think. Never imagined she'd leave her kids this long. Maybe she didn't make it?"

"I can't imagine that, with everything she's survived already," Carol said. "I don't expect to see her before next spring, though. Who knows where she is now? There may already be snow." She nestled closer into his side. "So... the honeymoon suite..."

"Yeah, it's, uh, the biggest space is about twelve by twelve, I guess? Got a couple tunnels, high enough to stand in. Not like that super narrow shit in the cave." He hesitated.

She was watching him expectantly. "Go on."

Daryl sighed, relieved. "I opened a few containers down there, hard plastic totes and bins. Shoulda brought some of the stuff back but you know, couldn't. Thought I'd be able to get it a day or two later, but that didn't work out. Some of it might spoil. There was bins of rice, and flour. Sugar. Shit has to be ancient. Prolly got damp after I opened 'em and a big solid lump by now. Looked good ten days ago. I broke the seals and opened 'em up. Wouldn't a' done that if I'd know they'd sit down there another three weeks." 

"Is it a bomb shelter?"

"Think so, somethin' like that. Storm shelter, bomb shelter, panic room. Walls are concrete but it wasn't damp, so maybe there's steel, like a liner? Dunno. Couldn't tell. Was someone's secret stash, that's for sure." He stroked her hair. "There's guns and ammo. Beds. Blankets. Candles. Food. A shit ton of food. Not spoiled. Other stuff. Good stuff. You're gonna like it."

"What kind of food?" Carol asked.

"Ain't gonna tell you no more. Otherwise won't be a surprise."

"Beds, blankets, weapons, and food so great you won't tell me about it. I can't wait."

"Neither can I. Let's go right now," Daryl suggested.

"Good try. You're going to stay right here in our bed for a few more days, Pookie, and then we'll see."

"You're just keepin' me here for a sex slave," he accused. "Need me nearby 'case you decide you wanna get off. I got your number."

"That you do," she assured him, pushing up to lean over him and steal several soul deep kisses before there was a clatter upstairs in the kitchen followed by children's voices, and Carol reluctantly pulled herself up and away from him to go investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	4. Christmas In October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caryl goes for a day trip to check out the honeymoon suite.

"Don't know why we can't go on the bike," Daryl grumbled. "Damn wagon's a hazard." He'd spent the better part of the last three weeks on his back and couldn't wait to get out of Alexandria. It was the longest he'd gone in his life without being in the woods. They had a walkie with them and knew the horde was about four miles to the north and drifting east. The bunker was six miles south. Carol had decided Daryl could handle the trip now. She'd asked him for three weeks and he'd granted her that. Not that they didn't enjoy the time spent together. It was an unexpected interlude they were both thankful for, and a little sad to see come to an end.

They told the fam they were going on a scavenging run, just looking for whatever they could find and planning to return by dark. It was a thinly veiled excuse for getting out of the house and away from the prying eyes of the settlement and, if they were lucky, getting as far as the bunker to check it out together. R.J. barely glanced up from the feathers he was sorting for tying fishing flies. Judith and Lydia both looked at them like they knew their story was bullshit, but said nothing. 

The days seemed much shorter than they'd been when Daryl first found the bunker, so they left right after the sun came up. Carol had already gone ahead to the stable to hitch the horses to the wagon.

Negan ensured they remained at the forefront of community gossip. Mysteriously, the one time he had not mocked or even mentioned was the night of Carol and Daryl's first hook-up. Surely there was comedy gold to mine in the event, but he stayed far from the subject, and while they were both suspicious and waited a long time for the bomb to drop (it hadn't), they were secretly grateful to Negan for resisting the temptation to roast them over it. He made up for this crumb of humanity by roasting them over everything else.

"Hey boss, did her Highness the Queen Badass finally let you out of the dungeon?" he taunted as Daryl walked a little stiffly down the steps. "It's about time you got out of bed. People been doing every goddamn little thing for your lazy ass except to wipe it for you. I don't know for certain, but I would not be surprised if that shit was also happening behind closed doors the entire time."

"Shaddup, Negan," Daryl growled. "Ain't you got nothin' better to do? Don't usually see your arrogant ass struttin' around this early in the day."

Negan leaned back and laughed. He was carting a wheelbarrow to the garden plot and had stopped solely to make an annoyance of himself. "Daryl, despite your never-ending and completely understandable animosity, I do happen to give a shit about your general welfare."

"Got a funny way of showin' it," Daryl countered.

"You and the girlfriend slipping out today to find someplace private to slip it in? Haven't heard either one of you yowling for a while. Betcha both have some serious blue balls."

"Fuck off," Daryl sneered. He turned away before Negan could see his embarrassment, and walked up the street to the stable where Carol waited with the wagon.

She was making some last minute adjustments to the harnesses and checking the traces. They had the lightest wagon in the settlement, it was a compact truck before the Turn and could be pulled by a single horse but was usually hitched to two. Carol had two horses harnessed to it today. If they got overrun, they might need one apiece, although she didn't anticipate the thought of Daryl riding a horse solo in a panic situation. Daryl wasn't afraid of much, but horses were right up there near the top of his list. There was the more likely emergency option of riding double on one horse and sacrificing the other to buy themselves some distance. Carol was always thinking ahead. 

They'd decided to ride out to the honeymoon suite and give it a good once over. Bring back some supplies to cover their story about going on a run, and determine if Carol was even going to be able to force herself down the ladder. Carol didn't seem to think she'd have a problem with it but Daryl would be apprehensive until they were sure.

"It's not an underground scientific crypt full of the world's deadliest germs, and it's not a gigantic maze of a cave with dynamite and the horde and the bitch who murdered my son and our friends in it," she'd said by way of explanation. "I don't think it'll be a big deal, Daryl. It's not even the same type of closed space."

"You just wanna get me someplace where you can jump my bones till you scream," he said, attempting the lighten the mood from the shadow cast by the sudden memory of their dead.

"And you don't want that?" Carol teased. She's already moved on.

"Hell yes, I do. Might make some noise of my own."

She moved up close, clutched his arm and whispered in his ear, "I like it when you make noise. It really turns me on." Which was truth, it made her wet just to say the words and she was hoping to pounce on Daryl in a big way once they got to the bunker. Claustrophobia be damned. It had been nearly a month and while they'd been indulging themselves in a buffet of twoshots (sometimes threeshots) it wasn't the same.

The sky was a clear, vivid blue without a cloud in sight, and Daryl felt like a kid going on a field trip after weeks spent in detention. His back was a little stiff, and his ribs still ached, but he felt a hell of a lot better than he had three weeks ago, and he wanted to get to the dry goods before they spoiled. The weather was only going to get colder and damper. They both had their bows in case they could bring down a deer or a boar while they were out. 

Aaron and Gracie were spending the day at the house with Judith and R.J. Lydia already had plans to go hunting, and while she'd volunteered to reschedule, Carol was determined not to turn her into a babysitter and had asked Aaron, instead. Gracie and R.J. were almost as close as siblings and enjoyed playing together, and Aaron wouldn't have much to bother about other than feeding them all lunch, and maybe dinner. Carol and Daryl hoped to be back in time for supper, but urged them not to wait if they were running late.

Gabriel was manning the gate this morning and he gave them a wave and a knowing smile as he let them out. In a way, their reputation protected their true motives now, since everyone seemed certain they were leaving only to find privacy for a liaison. Which was partially true, but not entirely. 

After ensuring the walkie had a full charge, Daryl clipped it to his belt and left it on. He wanted to know right away if the horde changed direction. He double checked the provisions and supplies they'd brought along for the trip.

"Settle down, Pookie," Carol said. "We're not going all the way to Middle Earth and back."

"Middle what?"

"Never mind. It's from a story. Fantasy."

"You wanna know my fantasy? Riding m'bike and not starin' at two big horses' asses, watching' 'em dump green biscuits on the ground and and smellin' their shit for twelve miles. We'd be there in ten, fifteen minutes, dependin' on how many walkers're in the road."

"Cant ride the bike, yet. You know why."

"Yeah," he muttered, chewing on his lip. "I know." He reached over and laid his hand possessively on her thigh, and she took the reins in one hand and laid her free hand over his. 

When they were around a mile out, Carol asked, "How's your back feeling?"

"S'okay. You were probably right about the bike," he said.

She turned to him in alarm. "If you're hurting, we can turn around. Don't bullshit me, Daryl. It's not worth taking the chance."

"M'fine. This thing's got shocks and it's not like we're flyin' up the road. Let's just get there and do this. If it ain't gonna work out, we'll just bring most of the stuff back. Think I wanna leave some of the food and supplies there, though."

"Why?" Carol asked.

"Keep it for a secret stash, I guess. 'Case we have to run, one day." They'd both learned from experience that it was better to have a Plan B and a Plan C if possible. You never knew what would happen, or when. "Might not be a bad idea to keep it just between us," he continued. "Ain't like the sewers we hid in before. No bad smells," he added. "Kinda surprisin.' It's been sealed up real good for a long ass time. Anybody who knew about it's gotta be long gone, by now."

************

They were a little nervous about leaving the horses and wagon in the farmhouse yard. They'd run into several smaller herds on the way out and took down a couple dozen walkers apiece just on their way to the bunker. There was a barn, but it was structurally unsound and it wouldn't do for the horses to be trapped inside if a herd showed up. They left the horses hitched and tied them to a post at the back of the house. Then they took their weapons and scouted a wide perimeter around the property for walkers, dead leaves crunching under their boots and the dry grass rustling around them in the light breeze. They traveled out a quarter mile all the way around, finding and dispatching two walkers, then returned to the farmhouse yard. The horses were still tied to the post and dozing in their harnesses.

"Okay, then," Carol said, a little nervous, but excited, too. "Let's see it."

They walked to the door and knelt, delicately brushed dirt and grass aside to disturb it as little as possible, and each grabbed hold of a metal ring. Carol watched Daryl carefully as they pulled the door up and open. It didn't seem to bother him. She relaxed a little. She was as eager to check it out as Daryl was, but she didn't want him to exacerbate his back injury. He'd hurt it once before, falling into a ravine while searching for Sophia, and while he never mentioned it, Carol was certain the damage from the earlier fall still bothered him occasionally, as so many of their old injuries did.

Daryl shone a flashlight down into the tunnel. Carol swallowed once, and nodded. "Okay," she said. She started down the ladder without hesitation, then waited expectantly for him at the bottom. Daryl followed her and left the trapdoor open behind him. 

Daryl led her through the wide tunnel to the door with the U-shaped handle and pulled it open. He immediately walked over to the niche with the two candles in it, and lit them, then strode to the shelf and retrieved another pair of candles and holders, which he also lit, then placed them in a second niche. He cast an apprehensive glance back at Carol. She seemed to be fine. She had her own flashlight out and was shining it all around, checking things out. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and calm.

Daryl inspected the bins he had previously opened. As he'd suspected, the sugar had settled into a series of large lumps, but they broke up when he chipped at them with his knife. "Sugar's OK," he called over his shoulder. "Got a bin of rice here. We should take it back, too. All the open dry goods can go with us today if we can lift 'em out the hatch. Ain't gonna last down here now they been opened."

"Pookie, what is this?" Carol asked. He turned to watch her shove the second, still-rolled futon mattress to the side and lift a piece of thick plywood that was about two feet across. There was a hole beneath it, three quarters as wide as the plywood square. She shone her light into the hole and saw nothing but an abyss. She searched around for something to drop into it to see if she could judge the depth. 

"Looks like a well ," Daryl said, trying to conceal his excitement. If they had an aquifer down here, they could survive in this space indefinitely, if needed.

Carol found a pebble in the tread of her boot and they both crouched over the hole as she dropped the pebble into into the darkness. There was a brief silence, followed by a tiny splash. 

"I'll be damned," Daryl said. 

Carol got to her feet and extended her hand. Daryl took it, and she helped him up. They looked down at the well again, then at each other. Carol was smiling. Daryl felt a surge of relief. They were down in the bowels of the bunker, and yet she was smiling and seemed relaxed, and he hadn't even shown her the good stuff, yet. 

"What is it?" she asked, noticing the change in his eyes.

"You're O.K. with being down here? Not gettin' claustrophobic? It's all right if you do, I'm just wonderin.' Know the cave was hard for you."

"I'm thinking about closing the hatch and riding you hard across this futon," she said, gesturing at the piece of furniture he'd set up and slept on, her blue eyes boring up into his. "It's been a long while, and I'm tired of waiting. Does that address your concerns about my claustrophobia?"

"What about the horses and the wagon?" He asked. "Don't get me wrong, I totally want to be your pony, but what if...?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "Why can't you think with your dick like most men?" she asked. She knew he was right, though. "O.K., then let's get the stuff we're taking back with us and load it up. You want to check the soundproofing?"

"How you wanna do that?" Daryl inquired. "Still got the best stuff to show you down here before we leave."

Carol thought for a minute. "You climb out and close the hatch. I'll stay in here and scream."

"The fuck --? Are you sure?" he asked, concerned.

"Daryl, I'm fine. If we were in here for hours upon hours -- and not for fun -- or for days, I'd have a problem. I'm not having a problem now, and if I don't after you close the hatch, then we're good. Yeah? Now, go." She made a gesture with her hand, like she was sweeping him away. "Take one of the bins up with you, I'll bring the rest over to the bottom of the ladder and hand them up to you after. No arguing."

Daryl stood there with his mouth working like he wanted to say something, then he turned and walked to the plastic bins and picked one of them up and carried it over to the ladder. He got the bin under his arm and wedged against his good side while holding the bottom of it with his hand. It was painful and uncomfortable and for a moment he wondered how the hell the original preppers got all of the bins and hard sided plastic totes down there in the first place. 

"Everything O.K?" Carol called up to him.

"Yeah. Just gotta shift this thing around, can't climb out with it under m'arm," he explained. He lifted the bin up over his head and out of the tunnel and set it down in the grass beside the trapdoor. "Damn," he muttered. "That was harder than it looked." He climbed up and out and peered down into the gloom where he could barely see Carol's outline. She had turned off her light. "O.K?" he called down to her, lifting the door carefully until it was straight up and down. "You sure, Carol?"

"Pookie, it's all right. I'm sure. Leave it closed for five. I'll yell at the top of my lungs for four, and hopefully you won't hear me. Now, go."

Daryl gnawed on his lip a moment. "A'right then," he said, and closed the trapdoor.

************

The first thought to go through Carol's mind was that it was much darker down in the bunker than she'd realized. Her lamp was still switched off, and a very dim, faint glow came from the candles burning in the niche in the big room. Carol let out a couple of piercing yells, her voice reverberating back at her from all angles in the closed in space. Her eyes began to adjust to the dark and the light from the candles seemed brighter.

She switched on her light and returned to the big room, where she alternately yelled and screamed and yelled some more. She shouted that she would love Daryl beyond this life and into the next. She thanked whatever higher power there was for bringing them together. She shrieked at Alpha, you were miserable anyway and now you're dead and your kid's with us and I'm happy, alive, and in love, so fuck you, bitch, burn forever in hell where you belong. Then she laughed the maniacal laugh that had tried to escape from her in Alexandria the morning after she'd first made love with Daryl. 

Carol roared her personal truths into the darkness until her throat burned, as she carried the unsealed bins through the tunnel and to the base of the ladder, one by one. She finished with the unsealed bins and brought out a couple that were sealed still. The darkness was beginning to close in on her in tiny increments, but she refused to let it take control.

Hunting for something else to occupy her mind until the hatch was open again, Carol grabbed hold of the tarp next to the ladder and pulled it off the hard plastic totes. These all had the seals cut. Daryl had been busy down here. Holding her flashlight in her mouth, she grabbed a top tote by the handles on the sides and lowered it to the ground. She removed the lid.

***********

Daryl lifted the hatch to find Carol standing at the base of the ladder, shining her light and staring into the plastic tote box she'd opened. She didn't look up as the door opened and Daryl appeared, silhouetted in front of the vivid blue sky.

"Did you hear me?" she inquired, still staring into the tote. Her voice was raspy.

"Not a peep. Were you yellin?"

"At the very top of my lungs. Daryl," she inquired, "is this what I think it is?"

He descended the ladder and looked at the tote she was shining her flashlight into. "Yup. It is. Was gonna surprise you, but I see you already opened the best one of your presents."

"This has got to be spoiled," Carol declared. She kept the smile that wanted to burst across her face in check, bracing for disappointment as she closed her small hand around a vacuum-sealed packets containing a dozen dark chocolate bars. "There's so many of them. You think they might still be good?" 

Daryl smiled to himself. Dark and closed-in spaces were the very last thing on her mind now.

Chocolate was Carol's favorite candy, but the majority she'd found the last several years was rancid and spoiled. She didn't even bother unwrapping milk chocolate now, it was chalky white beneath the wrappers (if not outright wormy) and depressing to look at. Boxes of chocolates and chocolate kisses had all long ago shared the same fate. For several years now, finding chocolate usually meant nothing more than to serve as a sad reminder of the time before the Turn, the world they'd lost. 

"Eighty-six percent cacao," Carol read the wrapper on the bars aloud. "The only chocolate that's any good now is the dark chocolate," she said reverently. "It's the dairy content that makes it go bad." She clutched the packet to her chest and rummaged in the tote with the other hand. "There are three, four, six...eight packets. That's ninety-six chocolate bars," she exclaimed in amazement. This time she couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. 

"Wanna try one?" he asked. "Cut it open. We got time."

Carol pulled her knife from the sheath and cut a slit in the packet large enough to pull one of the bars out. The plastic packet expanded and made a breathy sound when she opened it. She dropped the rest of the packet back in the tote and tore the wrapper off one end of the bar like an eager child. The chocolate was unmarked, dark and solid. She held it under her nose. "Oh my God," she said, breathing in the scent. 

"I haven't made you say that for a while," Daryl quipped, and Carol laughed.

She took a long breath and hesitantly nibbled a chunk from the corner of the bar, then savored it like a fine wine, head tilted back as the rich flavor of cocoa spread across her tongue.

Carol took a real bite from the bar and chewed with half-closed eyes, moaning. "This is almost better than sex," she mumbled around the mouthful of dark chocolate. "It's like having Christmas in October."

"Hmph," Daryl grunted, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the alcove, smiling. He watched her devour the candy bar and she was halfway finished with it before it occurred to her to share it with him. She broke off a big chunk and handed it over. They made short work of the first bar and opened and shared a second. Carol pushed Daryl up against the wall and he bent his knees and slid down the wall a little bit so she didn't have to stand on tiptoe when she pressed her chocolate-flavored lips to his. 

"You like it?" Daryl asked, once they finally came up for air. "There's more than just chocolate in them boxes, you know."

"I don't care what else is in them, Pookie. This is wonderful," she said happily. "You're wonderful. You've always been, to me."

"Pfft, just found some candy in a box. Ain't nothin' special to do that," he said, not sure of his ability to handle such high praise. "M'glad it's still good. Was worried about that. Whyn't ya see what else Santa left for you?"

The hard plastic totes held a treasure trove of high quality freeze dried food, all of it with a 20-plus year shelf life and still good. There were entrees and breakfasts. Biscuits and gravy, chicken teriyaki, beef stroganoff and over a dozen others. Sorting through the packages, Carol felt giddy, as if she were drunk. "My God, Daryl, there are weeks worth of meals in here. Months." She set the fourth tote aside and removed the lid from the fifth. "Holy shit!" she cried. "Are you kidding me?"

The fourth tote box was full of toiletries. There was shampoo, conditioner and lotion, all of which were long past their shelf life but were probably still usable, with the possible exception of the lotion. There were several packages of disposable razors, two dozen individually packaged bars of a once-popular soap, two bags of cotton balls and a six-pack of dental floss, half a dozen soft bristle toothbrushes and three large tubes of toothpaste. There were emery boards and tweezers, nail clippers, two hand mirrors, hair bands and ties, and three large boxes of tampons. Carol immediately snatched up the boxes and most of the hair accessories and crammed them into her bag. She would take them back to share with Lydia, who possibly had no idea what tampons were but would soon appreciate their convenience. 

The fifth tote was loaded with full propane bottles and two high end portable water filters. They had propane stoves and lanterns in the settlements, and knew the pressurized gas stayed as fresh as the container holding it. Propane was unlike petroleum products, which deteriorated over time until there was no longer any usable gasoline from before the Turn. 

"There's a camp stove on the shelf back there, and a gas lantern," Daryl volunteered. 

They both strode back into the main chamber of the bunker and examined the stove and lantern on the shelf. Both items definitely operated on propane. They decided to wait to test them until they had more time and could take both up and out into the open air, in case there was an issue with either. There were still unopened bins on and next to the shelves in the main chamber. "Do we want to take these out?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head. "They're still sealed up. Whatever's in 'em will be fine if we leave 'em alone for now. We should prob'ly take the others and get on outta here. I don't like leavin' them horses up top with us down here."

Carol agreed. She didn't like leaving the horses up there either. It wasn't like Alexandria had an abundance of them to spare. They covered the well and blew out the candles. 

Daryl had a length of his homemade rope in his pack and he climbed out of the bunker and lowered the end of the rope to Carol, who tied it securely around a bin, then held the bottom of the bin steady with a her free hand and followed it up the ladder as Daryl raised it from the pit. They did this with each of the opened bins from the interior. They left the two stil-sealed bins Carol had carried to the ladder behind.

Carol took the opened packet of chocolate and stuffed it in her bag with the tampons. She replaced the lids on the five totes she'd inspected. "Do you want to take any of the guns with us?" she called up to him. There were several rifles and pistols in the main chamber, and boxes of ammunition.

"If you can pick a good pistol and find matching ammo real quick? We gotta have more time to decide what else to share and what we're gonna keep stashed here," he said, leaning down into the tunnel. "Leave the stuff in the alcove. That shit's all good indefinitely and I'd rather have it right where it is. We have food to eat and water to drink and a way to heat it up if that propane's any good. Wouldn't want to light a wood fire down here. Don't think there's enough ventilation."

Carol hadn't yet opened the sixth tote. She raised the lid on it and saw that it held a big bag of paper plates, six titanium sporks, two large spoons, four potholders, a pair of tongs and a mesh bag of bungee cords, different sizes and lengths of parachute cord and rope and at least a dozen metal stakes. Several compactly folded polyurethane-coated nylon tarps and rolls of blue bags took up the rest of the space. She glanced up the shaft at Daryl. He was looking down at her as she shone her light into the last tote.

"You like your presents?" he asked.

"I like my presents, but I love the man who gave them to me," she told him, smiling up into the light. "He's the best present of them all." 

Daryl fidgeted with the vague discomfiture he always experienced with her compliments. "He's pretty sure that he's the lucky one," he managed. "Go get your gun, goddess, then let's get the fuck outta Dodge. We still have to load this shit in the wagon and get back home before dark. I just called home on the walkie, the horde's barely moved all day."

Carol took a step back from the tunnel and the darkness seemed to swallow her. "I need you to come down here for a minute," she said in a tight voice. "Close the hatch behind you on your way."

"Carol, God damn it," he swore. She could sense him struggling with himself. "We got the horses and wagon, and these bins...oh, fuck it." He started down, closing the hatch behind him. He descended the ladder almost too quickly and nearly lost his footing. Carol didn't remark on it and that's when he realized she was no longer there, but had retreated back into the main chamber. He could see the beam of her flashlight playing around. Just before he entered the chamber, it went pitch dark.

"Light the candles," she commanded. Her voice came from the direction of the futon. Daryl felt his way along the wall where he'd placed the candles in the niche, glad it was nowhere near the well -- how had he missed that the first time, anyway? He pulled his lighter out and lit the wicks.

When he turned, Carol was kneeling nude on the futon. It was chilly in the bunker and her skin was pebbled with goose bumps. She had pulled a blanket from the shelf and spread it out beneath her. The candlelight played in her hair and over her body in a golden dance. 

Daryl shoved his lighter back in his pocket and started tearing at his clothes, undressing in less than a minute. He cast a quick, concerned glance down the tunnel -- if there was any trouble with the horses, they had a long walk and a lot of explaining ahead of them -- but he shut off that voice in his head by telling himself they could hurry.

Carol seemed to be having the same thoughts. "Lie down," she said, pointing at the space beside her. Daryl understood her intent to continue protecting his spine for now. He couldn't wait until he could drive himself into her again without them worrying about his damn back. He lay on his back, his arousal ridiculously obvious. Carol made a purring sound and slung her leg over him. She placed her open palms on his hips and ran them up his torso in a slow, luxurious caress, thumbs grazing over his nipples. They pebbled immediately and she bent down to bite the left one, very gently.

Daryl let out a low, tortured moan. "Ain't got the time for much foreplay," he groaned. "If we're gonna fuck, we need to do it now and get the hell out of here. Need your pump primed?"

"Oh Pookie, you're so romantic," she declared in a breathy voice, raising herself up just enough to get him fitted in place, then she sank slowly into his lap, her eyes never leaving his. He held her at her sides just below her breasts, ready to freeze her in place if any bolts of pain shot down his spine. 

She felt his apprehension. "It's okay, I'll be careful of your back," she said. "I might scream when I come, though."

That made him swell even harder than he already was. "You better," he rumbled. "I'll help you get there quick." He lowered his right hand to touch her where and how he knew she liked it best. Carol moaned and began rocking her pelvis rhythmically against his. When Daryl started to move with her, she gave a quick "Huh-uh," and a head shake and held his hips down. "Your back needs more time. Lie still. Let me--"

Her voice trailed off in a guttural cry as he skillfully circled her with his thumb. She threw her hands instinctively over her mouth when she cried out. Daryl took hold of her wrists with his free hand and pulled her hands down and they both laughed out loud. She was so wet he almost came right then and there. Daryl soon answered her cries with his own and he fought against the urge to thrust up to meet her. He knew she would stop if he did. He roared with frustration.

"Are you ready?" she cried.

"I was ready five minutes ago," he moaned, struggling to hang on and feeling her telltale signs under his hand that she was close. 

The bliss of being able to let go without worrying about being vulnerable to a walker attack, or about who might overhear or razz them over it later gave them a sense of freedom and lack of caring about their surroundings they hadn't enjoyed since their first night together. Carol did not quite ride him across the futon as promised, since she was trying to protect his back, but at the finish she ground down against him hard as they both came apart. 

They hadn't closed the chamber door and their cries echoed down the tunnels. They didn't care. Carol had fallen forward against Daryl and was not quite laying on him as she propped herself up on her elbows. She held his thighs between hers and nipped at the side of his salty, sweaty neck, then grabbed an edge of the blanket and whipped it up and over them.

"God, I've missed this so much," she purred. "You feel so good. Why do you always feel so good?" she moaned, grinding down against him again, then catching herself and easing up on the pressure. "I just want to... do this all day. Until we can't do it any more. I need it like air, Daryl. I need you." 

"You already got me and I'm happy to go again -- but those horses and that wagon --" he began.

Carol sat up and offered him a wry, speculative smile. "Who would have pegged you as the responsible one?"

Daryl grumbled, grasping her hips as she raised herself reluctantly off his. "Dunno that I am. It's a helluva long walk back to Alexandria and I'd rather not. Plus we got them bins up top to deal with. Can't just leave that shit laying around." She dismounted him, then got up to gather their clothes, handing him his. They dressed quickly. Carol walked to the shelves with her flashlight and selected and pocketed a .380 caliber semiautomatic pistol and two boxes of ammunition. She blew out the candles and switched on her flashlight.

"I want to grab a few more things from the totes by the hatch," she said. "Toothpaste, floss, and toothbrushes for the fam." There had been no dentists since the Turn and a bad tooth was a nightmare all it's own. Carol had taken extra steps to preserve everyone's dental health, but nothing in her arsenal compared to the items in the totes. She retrieved five toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste and three packs of dental floss, fitting them in around the chocolate and boxes of tampons already filling her bag. She double-checked to ensure all the lids on the alcove totes were closed, then covered them with the tarp.

Daryl went up the ladder first. He was careful to open the hatch slowly and hold onto the edge of it as not to dislodge the camouflaging vegetation on top of it. A part of him was certain the horses and wagon would be gone or worse, reduced to a pile of bloody bones and hair, but they were still there and still alive, standing in the shade next to the porch and lazily switching their tails against the flies. Daryl gave a sigh of relief. He had never been so glad to see horses. 

He hoisted himself out of the hatch and extended a hand to Carol, who waved him away while mouthing "your back" up at him. She did hand him her bag which was not heavy, but bulky with the extras she'd crammed into it. They carefully lowered the trapdoor and patted down the earth around the sides in an attempt to conceal the edges. They laid the metal rings down flat and covered them with dirt and leaves. 

Daryl called back to Alexandria on the walkie and verified that the horde still hadn't moved much. He almost reported the locations and sizes of the herds he and Carol had encountered on their way out, then caught himself and realized doing so would give away their location.

They decided to bring the horses and wagon right up to the trapdoor since both of them would leave a clear path to it anyway if they walked back and forth multiple times, hauling the tote bins to the wagon. The bins they loaded held roughly twenty five pounds each of sugar, flour, rice, dried split peas and lentils. They debated on whether to bother with the flour since they milled their own, and decided that even if it wasn't food-worthy, it could still be used to make paste, shine steel, or repel ants. In a society that wasted nothing, someone would find a use for it. The bins were heavy and Carol insisted they carry each one together. They got the fourth bin loaded and then a sizable herd of walkers materialized out of the adjacent field and headed straight for the wagon. There were a lot of them, way too many for Daryl and Carol to kill singlehandedly.

Carol's bag and Daryl's backpack were lying next to the last bin. Daryl made a quick decision picked the bin up himself with a grunt of pain and set off for the wagon at a run. This exasperated Carol, but all she could do was snatch up the rest of their things and hightail it after him. She slung her bag and his pack into the wagon, grateful they'd both left their bows in it earlier, and clambered up into the seat and took the reins. Daryl heaved himself into the back. "Go!" He kicked away a walker and sent it stumbling backwards to topple into several others. The way they all tumbled to the ground reminded him of bowling pins. He had the fleeting thought if they'd gone at it a second time, as they'd wanted to, they would now be trapped in the hole and the walkers would be devouring the horses. Daryl shuddered.

"Too close for fuckin' comfort," he growled as he sprang up into the seat next to Carol. He cast an uneasy glance back toward the farmhouse. "Carol --"

"I know," she said, reaching for his hand with hers. "We got away, though. We did. Are you all right? What about your back?"

"Hurts a little," he admitted. "Runnin' with that damn bin. Heavin' myself up into the wagon. Ain't as young as I think I am." He shook his head, twisting carefully around to look behind them. "That was too close. We're either gonna have to come out here on foot or with the bike from now on. Ain't risking horses and a wagon with just the two of us to defend it. Said it was a hazard, didn't I?" He facepalmed with both hands and shook his head. "Never even had time to check out everything on the shelves. Or figure out where the second hatch opens up, although I bet it's in that house."

"It's an adventure," Carol said loftily, eyeing Daryl for signs of discomfort as she kept the horses at a brisk trot. "You took me to a magical cave full of all kinds of treasure and we made love by candlelight."

He chuckled. "You paint a pretty picture. Little chilly down there," he added. "Gotta find a way to warm it up a bit."

"Well, I don't think it gets much cooler than it already is," Carol explained. "Caves stay the same temperature pretty much year round." She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'll keep you warm in our honeymoon suite, Pookie."

"Don't I know it. You're fiery, all right."

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "I've set fire to a few things." Carol looked down at the reins in her hands and chewed on her lip. "Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to come back next week? Stay a couple nights? We don't need to carry much with us, practically everything we need is in there already." There was something almost pleading in her tone.

"You gonna be okay down there in the dark for whole days?" he asked apprehensively. We ain't figured out the bathroom situation yet, neither."

"There's blue bags," she said.

"Blue whats?"

"Blue bags. Mountain climbers and rafters use them. To pack out their...waste."

Daryl drew back, aghast. "I aint shittin' in no bag."

"You'll learn how if you want us to be using that place much," Carol explained. "Signs of travel, wear and tear. We can't be leaving a trail, and the more often we come outside when we're there? The more likely we are to lead someone right to a trapdoor. If we don't use the blue bags, then we need to find a bucket or two. Preferably with lids," she added, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

She glimpsed a herd of walkers approaching clumsily from the left and clucked the horses into a faster trot. Daryl gripped the sides of his seat at the sudden jolt forward, grimacing. He reached back and retrieved his crossbow and Carol's long bow and quiver from behind the seats. 

"Don't waste your bolts," Carol said, snapping the reins again. The horses' pace quickened into a canter. "We can stay ahead of them." She clucked at the horses and reined them into a right turn down wide alley, flanked on both sides by the backyards of houses.

"Where the hell we goin?" Daryl demanded, twisting around in his seat to see if the herd turned to follow them.

"Taking a shortcut," she replied calmly. "Relax, Pookie. I've done this before." She reined the horses left after a couple blocks, then right again, then left and made a wide loop that took them through several yards and a field and put them back on the main road half a mile from where they encountered the herd. There were no walkers in sight. The afternoon sunlight slanted golden through the leaves still in the trees. The road was full of fallen leaves and they rustled and crunched beneath the horses' hooves and the wheels. 

Daryl crawled into the back to check the bins and make sure they were still upright. There was a little rice and some split peas rolling around in the bed, but nothing more. Daryl shoved all the bins up against the tailgate and climbed back into the seat next to Carol.

"How's the stuff?" she asked.

"Fine. Didn't spill much. Lucky we got that shit all loaded up before we bailed." He chewed on his lip and stared straight ahead, picking at a hangnail on his thumb.

"Daryl? What is it?" 

"Nothin," he grunted.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me," she said, looking away from him a minute to guide the horses around a fallen tree in the road. "Something's bothering you, spit it out."

"We had too much good luck, lately. You and me, the kids, all the game we been baggin' on our hunts, the Whisperers bein' gone. Finding the honeymoon suite and all the shit that was in it. Everything's been goin' too good. Too perfect. Part of me's just waitin' for the bad end to come, right?"

"I don't see the perfection in you falling out of a tree and almost breaking your back, but OK, " Carol said. "Are you scared because we're happy now?" she asked.

He looked up from his hands and his troubled blue eyes met hers. "I am," he admitted. "Know I ain't s'posed to be scared. Merle would'a said it was pussy. I was never this scared this much of the time before. Even when we was fightin' the Saviors and the Whisperers. Guess it was 'cause I didn't have as much to lose."

"Merle said you were the sweet one, and he got that much right. I'm scared too." Carol confessed. "Life's too good in so many ways, now. I'm afraid it's going to get taken away from us." She swallowed and looked ahead at the horses. "I feel like I don't deserve it. But I know that you do."

"That's funny, 'cause I feel the same way."

"Like you deserve it and I don't?" she quipped, trying and failing to keep the grin off her face.

"Smartass," Daryl snorted. "Nah, you know what I meant. I feel like you deserve it and I don't."

Carol sighed. "We're both pretty fucked up, aren't we? You and me?"

"You just now figuring that out?" he asked wryly, wondering what she was getting at. "I been fucked up long's I can remember. Stuff you told me 'bout, seems like your childhood and teenaged years was all right, until you hooked up with that fucker."

"Yes, 'that fucker' was a pivotal player in my devolution," she agreed, turning back to him with a piercing gaze. "But now I'm with you. And if... if going through what 'that fucker' had to dish out was the price of admission to eventually have you in my life? In my bed? I'd gladly pay it a thousand times over."

"Don't say shit like that," he said, turning away, unable to bear the raw adoration in her eyes.

She slowed the horses and reined them to a full stop. "Daryl."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me," she implored, reaching over to grasp his arm. "Please."

He forced himself to turn his head to meet her eyes. His were damp.

"I love you so much," Carol said. "Every day we're together is just... a gift. It's a gift, and I don't want to squander it, or waste it worrying about the millions of bad things that might happen, or whether or not either of us deserves happiness, or--"

Daryl leaned across the console between the seats and silenced her lips with his. She draped the reins over her thigh and held his face in her hands and kissed him back.

"Now, that looks like one hell of a supply run!" Negan's drawl rang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I never research the shelf lives of dry goods or toiletries again it will be too soon.
> 
> I often use italics to emphasize dialogue. Annoying that I can't figure out how to do that here on AO3.


	5. Kinds of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fam works through some relational conflict and angst.

Carol and Daryl broke apart slowly and both of them glared down from their seats in the wagon at Negan, who was standing on the side of the road and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

"Getting away with sneaking up on you two? Daryl and Carol Dixon?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "This makes my entire day... maybe even the whole year."

"We're not married," Carol said.

Negan grinned even wider. "The hell you're not."

"Shut up, Negan," they both said in unison.

Negan kept on smiling like his face was stuck that way and couldn't unlock. Daryl and Carol looked at each other and rolled their eyes. 

"What do you want?" Carol asked coldly. 

"I was just out here hunting and minding my own business," Negan explained, hoisting two braces of pheasants.

"That's a decent string a' birds," Daryl blurted instinctively, before he could catch himself. Pheasants were difficult to acquire. Before the Turn, people hunted them with shotguns. They rocketed up out of the brush without warning and had to be hit in midair, on the fly. Whatever he'd used to bring them down, Negan was evidently very good with it.

Negan was himself visibly startled by words of praise from the archer. "Excuse me? Daryl, did you just give me a compliment?"

"It was an accident," Daryl hastily explained. "Won't happen again." 

Negan shot him a wry grin and rubbed his chin. "All right, Daryl Dick-Son. Have it your way."  
He made a faux bow at Carol. "Your Majesty."

"Oh, piss off, Negan," Carol said. "Why don't you donate those birds to the community kitchen and see if you can find anyone who'll let you sit next to them while they eat them."

"Both those girls in your home would sit next to me with or without these pheasants or your approval," he shot back. Then, seeing Carol's face change, he backed up and taunted, "Oh, shit, Mom's mad!"

"You should keep your distance from Judith and Lydia," Daryl warned. He started to get up from his seat and Carol grabbed his arm and held him there. He growled at his still-grinning nemesis. "Ain't it enough that you're walkin' around free, you gotta still fuck with people, too?"

"Or what?" Negan asked. "You gonna shoot me?"

"It's tempting," said Carol. "We probably wouldn't even be tried by the Council."

"You two wound me," Negan said, putting his hand over his heart. "I was just out here all by my lonesome, hunting these fine birds and minding my own goddamn business when you decided to come along, park and make out in the middle of the same goddamn street I happened to be walking along. I'm going to keep walking now," he finished. He lifted the birds in a kind of salute, and marched past them and down the road.

"There's a big herd comin' couple miles back," Daryl twisted around in his seat and hollered after him. Negan kept walking, but he raised his hand to indicate he'd heard, and they went their separate ways.

**********

They dropped off the bins at the community kitchen after a brief stop at the house, where Carol set aside several cups each of the rice, the peas and the lentils. She insisted they keep three-quarters of the sugar. Carol tried to keep a straight face when delivering this news, but Daryl saw right through it. "Gonna do what, make cookies?" he guessed.

"Someone's making cookies?" Judith asked, perking up from her seat at the table where she'd been studying a census ledger. 

"Don't tell the others," Carol said. "It's a surprise."

Daryl scoffed. "You think the whole damn settlement ain't gonna smell 'em bakin'? Might even catch a whiff clear over to Oceanside. They'll come runnin' with offerin's of salted fish and sea urchin eggs..."

Carol laughed and nudged him playfully. "Sea urchin eggs? How do you know about that?"

"I hear things," Daryl said, "S'posed to be an aphro... aphora ..."

"Aphrodisiac," Judith said, closing the ledger and getting up from the table.

They both stared at her. "How do you know that?" Carol asked.

Judith shrugged. "What? I can read."

"Aphrodisiac? Where you gonna read that word?" Daryl demanded. 

"One of the ladies down by the church has a bunch of old books," Judith explained. "They're these romance novels, all kinds of romance --"

"You been reading romance novels?" Daryl asked. "Like smut romance, or fluffy stuff?"

"Mostly fluffy stuff," Judith said lightly. She seemed to remember something she had to do and quickly got up and went upstairs.

Daryl turned to Carol. "Prob'ly all smut. Jesus. Is she even old enough to know what that's about?"

"Listening to us go at it, it's nothing new for her," Carol said. Then, at his shocked look, "What? You imagine they think we're playing checkers or Monopoly downstairs all hours of the day and night? Who makes those type of noises playing a board game? Even though we do try to be quiet." She shook her head. "They may be children, but they're not stupid."

Daryl ducked and smiled at that. "No, they're sure not," he agreed. 

"They're not really eggs, you know," Carol said mischievously. "Sea urchin eggs," she added, in response to his puzzled expression. "They're actually the balls--"

"Stahp," Daryl said. "I aint eatin' any, ever, so I'm better off not knowin.'"

They delivered the rest of the dry goods to the community kitchen, then Carol dropped Daryl at the house and returned the horses and wagon to the stable. She unharnessed and curried the horses, picked the debris from their hooves, then stabled them and gave them water and feed. She wiped down the harness and put it on the rack. By the time she made it back home, the fam were all in the kitchen making venison sandwiches on sourdough with lettuce and tomato and homemade mayonnaise for supper.

"Wow!" Carol cried. "Those look great, and I'm starving." She devoured two of the fat sandwiches along with a glass of apple juice, then she jumped up to run over to her bag, returning with a chocolate bar each for Judith, Lydia and R.J.

"Listen up," she said solemnly. "Make sure its not spoiled when you eat it. You'll know if it's no good, it'll be sour. I'm pretty sure it's fine, but bring it back to me if it's bad. Eat it slow, or you'll make yourselves sick. Might want to save some for later, but if you do, keep it where it won't get warm. Go."

They sprang up from the table and scattered with their chocolate in three different directions.

"Well, hell," Daryl said. "If a little candy's all it takes to buy some privacy, maybe we should bring the rest of them bars back here and forget about a honeymoon suite."

**********

Daryl had pounded out the tendons from the deer and separated the fibers. He made several bowstrings, giving four each to Carol and Lydia. Lydia immediately dragged out her bow and replaced the ratty string on it with the fresh one. She held the other three in her hand and frowned.

"Somethin' wrong?" Daryl asked.

"No..." Lydia began, "it's just that... Two are plenty for me, and Negan needs new bowstring." Her dark eyes rose to meet his. "Can I -- is it OK if I give him a couple?"

Daryl gnawed the inside of his cheek, thinking. He was well aware Lydia was still talking with Negan, that was old news. He'd reconciled himself -- as much as he was ever going to -- to the fact he couldn't keep them away from each other. Daryl was positive it wasn't a sexual thing. He could suss that shit out in a heartbeat, and he knew Negan thought of Lydia as a kid, like a niece or even a daughter, and that wasn't going to change. The two of them had a lot in common and were both outcasts trying to exist within the community. Negan had been there for Lydia when Daryl couldn't be, and he'd proven more than once that he had both the girls' best interests at heart. 

Most of the citizens in the settlements still wouldn't acknowledge or speak to either one of them. Forcing them to stay apart would be cruel and unnecessary, no matter how much Daryl despised the former Savior. He didn't mind being cruel to Negan, but Lydia was another matter. Daryl knew Negan was her only real friend outside the fam. As much as he hated the thought, he'd eventually have to accept that Lydia had bonded with Glenn and Abraham's murderer. He was also certain the man was willing to die for either Lydia or Judith, if it came down to that. 

"Can't Negan get his own bowstrings?" he finally asked.

"Sure, but not like these. Not like the ones that you make." She rolled one of them between her fingers. "Look, if you're saying no, just say no."

"Well, I ain't," he said. "They're yours now, you can do what you want with 'em. I don't need to know every damn thing about it." He turned and left the room. 

*********

Carol was undressing to hop in the tub when Daryl came downstairs. She beamed at him. "Pookie, you're just in time. Let's re-create our first bath together. Tub's already full."

He raised his eyebrows. "That sounds like fun. Hope you're not plannin' much more than a bath, though."

Concern darkened her eyes. "Does your back hurt?"

Daryl flashed her a sheepish grin. "Nah. I'm just plumb worn out. Today was the most activity I've had in weeks. Feel like a geriatric who just got home from a field trip."

"Oh!" Carol exclaimed. "No kidding. Me, too." She pulled her blouse over her head and turned to let Daryl unhook her bra. "Can you imagine if we'd met when we were teenagers or in our twenties?"

"Prob'ly both be dust by now," Daryl mused. "Might've screwed ourselves to death at an early age." He sat on the edge of their bed and unlaced his boots. Carol rubbed his shoulders and nuzzled the crook of his neck with a sigh. 

"Daryl," she sighed. "Is this real? Are we real? I still feel like I'm living in a dream."

"It's real, all right. Better get used to it. Dunno how long it'll last, but we're here right now." He pulled off his shirt and reached out to pull her into his lap. She laughed and wrapped both arms around his neck. They sat there together, both naked from the waist up, holding on to each other, eyes locked. They could speak phrases in silence before, but now they had entire conversations that way. Carol held the sides of his face and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss he returned with equal ardor. She brushed his nose with hers. "I love you, Daryl Dixon."

"Don't I know it," he said. "Got the saddle sores to prove it." Carol huffed and smacked him playfully. He ducked and added, "I love you too, Carol... Dixon." 

She stopped clowning and stared at him solemnly. Daryl wondered if he'd make a mistake.

"Just.. Peletier... I know you hated him, and it's his name, not yours... " Daryl was disgusted with the thin whine his voice was rapidly diminishing into. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What Negan said. What did you think of that?" he asked. 

She didn't answer for so long he thought she'd forgotten. "About us being married, you mean?" she finally asked.

"Yeah. What do you think of that?"

"What do I think of us being married? But we're not." 

Daryl huffed in frustration. "About gettin' married. Tyin' the knot. Gettin' hitched. Or just sayin' we are, I don't give a shit if we make it official, although we do have a real preacher, if you wanted that." He ducked his head again and glanced off across the room so he wouldn't have to see the amusement spreading across her lovely face. The look she was giving him made him want to squirm like a kid. "Just wanted you to know that I would, if that's what you want. I mean, if you do..."

"Pookie," she asked softly, "are you proposing?"

Daryl turned his gaze back to meet hers from beneath his fringe. "Guess I am. Can't take a knee, though. Makes m'back hurt." He straightened up and tightened his arms around her. "I want whatever you want. Don't matter if we share the love or it's just between us, or maybe we don't need to talk about it again. I love you, and you love me. That's all I'll ever need. But if you wanted it to be something... more? I'm with you, either way. If you want my name -- or anything of mine -- it's yours."

Carol carded her fingers through his hair. She leaned back to regard him with such deep affection it made him self conscious. "That's beautiful, Daryl," she said. "It's the most romantic proposal ever."

"I'm takin' that as a compliment," he said, "since I know you got at least two others and one was from a King who talked fancy."

"Ed's was more a demand that a request," Carol mused. She wrapped her arms around Daryl's neck and kissed him, gently at first, then with growing intensity until they were both breathing hard.

"Don't need an answer now," Daryl said, when they came up for air. "Or ever. OK? Just think about it."

She got up off his lap and he gave her ass an affectionate squeeze. "Let's get in that tub while the water's still warm," she said.

**********

Lydia took off for the practice area as soon as she restrung her bow. The new bowstring was a vast improvement. It sent her arrows flying with more force, and they penetrated the target deeper. She emptied her quiver into the target, pleased with the effect of the new bowstring on her accuracy, then walked over to retrieve her arrows.

"Some pretty good shootin' there, kid," Negan's voice rang out from behind her.

Lydia didn't turn around to face him until she finished retrieving her arrows. "I have new bowstrings," she explained. She approached Negan and handed him her bow. He took it after a moment, tilting his head and giving her a look of puzzlement. Lydia removed her quiver of arrows and opened a small leather pouch attached to the side of it. She fished out a pair of the bowstrings, and offered them to Negan. "Here." She handed him the coiled lines and took her long bow back.

"Where'd you get these?" Negan asked, taking the cord from her and studying it. "The sinew's fresh and it looks like a professional job." He studied her hard. "Did Daryl make this?"

"Um," Lydia muttered. "Yeah. Probably. Does it matter?" 

She could tell Negan was impressed with the bowstrings by the way he handled and admired them. "It might matter to Daryl. Does he know you're giving them to me?"

"He said they were mine and he didn't need to know what I did with them."

"That sounds like a yes," Negan said.

"Negan," Lydia hissed impatiently, "do you want the fucking bowstrings, or not?"

"What'd I just hear--?" he began, cupping his free hand to his ear.

"Oh, give it a rest," she said, exasperated. "You're old enough to be my grandpa and you swear more than anyone else around. I don't know why you think you get to act like you're my dad." She tilted her head back and stared him down.

"Well if I'm old enough to be your grandpa, what the hell does that make Daryl?"

"Don't you ever talk smack about Daryl... to me," Lydia declared, her dark eyes blazing defiance. "I mean it. Just don't."

"Okay," Negan agreed, nodding. "Totally get that. Fair enough." He held both hands out in supplication, the bowstrings in one of them. "So, I am gonna restring my bow and we'll have ourselves a little shootin' contest. Unless you're afraid a guy old enough to be your grandpa will completely kick your juvenile ass. I'd totally get that, too," he taunted.

Lydia stuck out her lower lip in defiance and gestured for him to go ahead. Negan restrung his bow and they both stayed at the practice field and shot at the targets until dusk.

**********

When Lydia walked into the house it was dark out, the lanterns were lit, and the fam were in the living room around the evening's fire. Dog was sprawled on a rug in front of the hearth. Judith was curled up next to Dog and reading a book. Daryl was making a rope and Carol sharpened her knuckle duster knife. R.J. sorted through a wooden box he balanced in his lap. The box was full of fishing flies he'd tied, and R.J. was deciding which ones to trade for a decent pole to use the others with.

"If it was a blade or a bow I'd be able to help you out," Daryl was saying. "Don't know much about makin' fishin' poles."

"That's all right," R.J. said, glancing up as Lydia entered the room. "No one can make everything, and Rachel said there's a woman at Oceanside who makes fly rods."

Carol raised her head, "I remember her. She made some of the rods we used on the boat... when we used rods on the boat. She brought some to trade at the Kingdom Fair too, back when that was a thing. Her name's Avery." She nodded and went back to scraping her blade along the whetstone. "Avery's fishing poles are legendary and they're not cheap. Sure you can afford one?" she asked, with a surreptitious wink at Daryl.

"How much are they?" R.J. asked, suddenly full of doubt.

"Don't worry about it," Daryl reassured the boy, "we'll figure somethin' out. You pick a couple dozen a' your best fishin' flies, and your Aunt Carol and I'll come up with somethin' to sweeten the deal." R.J. looked at Carol and she nodded.

"Maybe we can send a jar or two from the pantry," she offered.

"Venison?" asked R.J. 

"Maybe one," she conceded. "And a second jar of something else. Like your Uncle Daryl said, we'll figure it out." She leaned toward the closest lantern and examined the edge of her knife, then carefully sheathed the now razor-sharp blade.

"How was target practice?" Daryl asked Lydia. "Bow shootin' any better?"

"Lots. Thanks." She wasn't sure what else to say. But of course, she knew what to say. The truth. "I practiced with Negan."

Neither Daryl nor Carol said anything. 

"Who won?" Judith asked. "You guys had a contest, right?"

"Um," Lydia mumbled, setting her bow in a corner and moving around to sit on the couch next to Carol. "We did. He did." She turned to her adoptive father. "Daryl, have you ever used a sling?"

He looked surprised. "Nah. Never even seen one." He furrowed his brow and bit his lip. "That's what Negan's hunting' with now?"

Lydia was surprised and confused. "How'd you know that?"

Daryl shrugged. "Saw him with some pheasants. They're fast. Real fast. Gotta knock 'em right outta the sky. Sling'd be good for that... if you knew how to use one." He eyed her sideways. "Just gave you new bowstrings and you're wantin' a sling, now?" he teased.

Lydia looked down at her hands in her lap. She felt guilty asking Daryl to help her with something that would lead to more time spent with Negan. "Negan said I could make one from the hide you brought home from the deer," she said. "Maybe... several."

Carol was sitting back on the couch, watching and listening, not actively participating. She provided a supportive presence for both of them, but didn't think it was her place to engage -- at least, not yet -- and this was something between them that Daryl and Lydia needed to work out without her involvement. Judith had stopped reading her book and was also watching in silence.

"So you want the hide I 'bout broke my back gettin' for makin' huntin' slings with," Daryl said. "Negan helps you make 'em and teaches you to use one and he gets slings of his own in trade. That right?"

"Well, I -- um -- " Lydia stuttered. "Yeah, sort of. I guess." She shrugged.

"Aaron tanned that hide while I was laid up," Daryl offered. "He's entitled to somethin' for his trouble." He adjusted the length and tension of the rope he was working on, and resumed braiding the strands. "You work it out with Aaron. Hide's downstairs. I'll set it out next to the door."

"Really?" Lydia asked. She'd expected resistance and wasn't prepared to deal with instant acquiescence. "I can just have it?"

Daryl pursed his lips in concentration and nodded as he worked through a particularly difficult section of his weaving. Lydia waited respectfully until he finished with it. 

"Thanks, Daryl," she said.

"Yeah," he replied lightly, reaching into the leather pouch at his side for more sinew. "No need for thanks. You be sure to comp Aaron. I'm expectin' pheasants for the fam as payback... eventually." He glanced over at Carol with a faint smile, then returned his attention to the rope he was braiding. 

***********

Carol baked cookies the following evening and it was as Daryl has prophesied. The smell of them wafted through Alexandria and perked everyone's interest. The smell of baking bread or pies was nothing new in the settlement, but the cookies were a truly special event. Even though there were multiple community activities ongoing in the evening, the fam all came home early so as to avoid being bombarded with inquiries and requests about the confections. They also couldn't wait to sample them.

Carol hacked four of the remaining chocolate bars into chunks and tossed them into the batter along with a sizable handful of chopped pecans. The fam all crowded into the kitchen and were pulling the cookies off the cooling rack and snarfing them down before the next dozen were even laid on the baking sheet.

"Save a couple for the cook," Carol requested, scooping out spoonfuls of dough to go in the oven.

Daryl reached around the fam, who'd all swarmed the counter and were rapidly decimating the still-hot cookies. He lifted two cookies and carried them over to where Carol was sliding another sheet of dough into the oven. He broke off a chunk of a cookie, careful not to let the strings of still-melted chocolate drop to the floor, and fed it to her as she straightened and closed the oven door. She made soft noises of approval as she chewed and swallowed, and nodded enthusiastically. 

"That's pretty darn good," she said, setting the baking mitt and potholders aside. "Where's the rest of it?"

The fam polished off the first twenty cookies before they'd even had a chance to cool and then everyone felt a little sick, inundated with enough sugar to keep them up most of the night. Carol wrapped half a dozen of the biggest cookies in a clean dishcloth and asked Judith to run them over to Aaron and Gracie's. Judith slipped out the back door to complete her mission, avoiding the gauntlet of curious Alexandrians gathering in front of the brownstone.

"There aren't enough to share much," Carol said, feeling guilty. "I didn't realize they would have this big an effect. Maybe I can bake some sugar cookies tomorrow? We have plenty of it... sugar, that is," she added. 

Daryl winked at R.J. "I'm thinkin' a few of these cookies might sweeten the deal on a fly fishin' rod," he mused. "You willin' to give some up?"

"He can have some of mine," Carol volunteered. Lydia, standing next to the counter, looked conflicted.

"Lemme guess," Daryl said to her. "You wanna share yours with Negan."

"Well... yeah, maybe," she confirmed. "He's my friend."

"Maybe give some thought to the kinda friends you have?" Daryl suggested. "He ain't no one else's friend around here. Dunno why he has to be yours."

"It's hard to be friends with people who hate you," she shot back. "I get that. Negan gets it, too. The rest of you don't understand." She folded her arms around herself protectively. "I only have the one friend outside the fam, so it's hard to be choosy about what kind of friends I make. It's not like people are beating down the door to hang out with me. So yeah. I want to share my cookies with my friend."

Daryl turned to Carol and shook his head. "Her friend," he emphasized, disgusted. 

Carol was taking hot cookies off the sheet and placing them on racks to cool. She paused, spatula in hand, and shrugged. "Well, he is. Her friend. Isn't he?"

"Back before the Turn," Daryl told Lydia, "people talked when a man Negan's age was friends with a girl your age... and it wasn't the good kind'a talking.'"

"So what does that make you?" she shot back.

"You ain't callin' me 'friend' or giftin' me cookies and leather," he growled. "There's a difference."

"So you're mad because I don't give you things?" 

"No, that's not what I'm sayin'..." Daryl stopped and closed his mouth with an audible snap. He looked helplessly to Carol, who shrugged a second time and offered him a tight smile. 

"I did conspire with him behind everyone's backs," Carol offered apologetically, excusing herself from participation. "Not really a neutral party, here."

Daryl was exasperated. "If this is s'posed to be co-parenting, we're suckin' hard at it," he declared.

She shrugged and turned away from him, busy dealing with the last sheet of cookies. Daryl turned back to Lydia. Her soulful, dark eyes cut at his heart. He knew she was torn between him and Negan and always had been. It was a lot of pressure to put on a kid her age. As Daryl had said to Carol before, she'd been through enough. His skin would always crawl a little at the thought of her hanging out with Negan, but Negan had important things to teach her, too, and if permitting her to spend time where she wanted without worrying about judgement from him would help her personal development, then Daryl had to go along with it. Not to mention, she needed all the survival skills she could learn, and Negan had more than a few to teach her.

"Your stuff is your stuff," Daryl told her. "Your cookies, your bowstrings. Once it's yours, do what you want with it. Don't gotta ask or tell me. A'right?" He sighed. "Can't approve of that sumbitch. You weren't there... you didn't see when he --"

"I get it," Lydia began, but Daryl cut her off.

"No, you don't get it," he growled, more forcefully than he'd intended. "Glenn Rhee was the nicest guy alive. Everybody loved him. Everybody. And Negan bashes him in the head with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, caves in his skull and pops his eyeball out, then struts his ass around, all cocky and laughin' about it, watchin' Glenn sufferin' an' dyin' in front a' his pregnant wife and his closest friends. Then he finally killed him and beat him into the ground 'til he had no head left. Just a puddle of hair and bone and bloody wet fuckin' mush."

Lydia's eyes were big and round and fixed on Daryl's. The entire kitchen had fallen silent. Judith had opted out of enforcing language corrections and backed into a corner by the pantry, her eyes wide. Negan himself had told her the events of that night, but not in quite the same horrific detail. The cookies were forgotten. R.J. stayed back and out of the way, his glance flickering between Daryl and Lydia. Carol stood with her back to the counter, a silent observer. Despite everything he had told her, Daryl had never spoken to her of that night in any detail. This was as new to her as it was to the rest of the fam.

"Then he took me back to the Sanctuary," Daryl went on, gathering himself together. "Locked me naked in a pitch dark cell with a gunshot wound, fed me dog food and forced me to listen to the same fuckin' song, turned up loud, for days on end. Tortured me till I wished he'd just end me with that fuckin' bat. Lucille." He spat out the name of Negan's bat with a snarl.

"Daryl... " Carol began, stepping away from the counter and reaching out to him.

"I'm okay," he told her quickly. "It's all right. Just gonna say this and be done with it." She went to his side and took his arm anyway, rubbing his back with her hand, soothing away the tension building there and leaning against him to show her support. She knew this was hard for him, but that he'd do the right thing. He always did, now.

"I get that he ain't never done nothin' to hurt you... but he murdered a man I loved like a brother -- right in front a' me -- and then he tried to make me his dog. Ain't never gonna forget those things. That's not how you know him and not how you see him, but it's still him. It's still in him to do that shit and be that kinda guy."

"What about some of the shit you've done?" Lydia asked. 

"I ain't never murdered someone slow in front 'a their loved ones while laughin' about it," Daryl countered. 

Lydia hung her head and said nothing. Daryl knew if he asked her to stay away from Negan now, she would try. That was about Daryl and Negan though, and not about Lydia, and he realized it. Much as he hated the truth, Negan was the girl's only friend outside the fam.

"Ain't tellin' ya who to hang around or who to stay away from," Daryl continued. "I wanna, and I tried before, but from now on, I won't. Always hated people older n'me tellin' me what to do. So I ain't gonna tell you no more. I just need to not know about it, all right? When you're out doin' whatever, from now on, Im'a just assume you're with Negan. I get to wonderin' where you are, I'll go lookin' for him. Don't need to be no talkin' 'bout it or what you and him were doin' with your day... I mean, talk about your day but leave him outta it. I don't wanna hear jack shit about your other dad."

"My other dad?" Lydia asked. 

"Never mind," Daryl said quickly. "Prolly speakin' outta turn."

Lydia shook her head and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "No. No, you're not." She set her cookies down on the counter, then walked over to Daryl and hugged him as Carol stepped away and busied herself at the sink. Daryl froze for a moment, startled, then wrapped his arms around her and returned her embrace, stroking her hair as she sobbed quietly into his shirt. Carol finished washing up and and she and the rest of the fam made themselves scarce.

"We'll get it all figured out," Daryl reassured the girl, once her sobs had reduced to the occasional hiccup. "Just be careful. I worry 'bout ya. Don't wanna tell you what to do or who to spend your time with. Just got a touchy spot where that asshole's concerned."

"I get it," she sniffled. "I won't talk about him." She wiped her face with her sleeve and smiled through her tears. "OK, Daryl... Should I --" a tiny laugh escaped her -- "should I call you Dad?"

"You don't gotta call me that, unless you wanna," Daryl said quickly. "But if you wanna, that's fine, too. Works for me, either way. Don't hafta decide today." He offered her a sideways grin. "Gonna piss you off again sooner or later and then you'll wanna call me somethin' else."

**********

"Holy fuck," Daryl breathed, once he was down in their room. "This parentin' shit is hard." He sat on the edge of the bed and face palmed with both hands. "Feel like I'm fuckin' it up."

"I think you're doing fine," Carol reassured. "You're doing right by Lydia, and that's what's important. She came from a hard place, Daryl, but she has the stability here that she needs. Negan's an asshole, but he's not going to try and turn her into one. And, honestly? I feel like she's safer out there with him than by herself. That man's just as likely as you to throw his life on the line for hers." She smiled at him. "Her other dad."

"Stupid I said that," Daryl muttered.

"No, it's not. You're both father figures to her. It says a lot about you that you're willing to share that distinction in her life, and with your sworn enemy, no less. Give yourself some credit for being the honorable man you are," Carol told him. "You're setting a good example for Lydia and Negan both, whether you like it or not."

"What about Judith and R.J?" he asked.

"Oh Pookie, they already know who you are. Those kids worship the ground you walk on. You're the closest thing they've had to a father since Rick." 

Daryl gave a little laugh. "I hope that don't mean I hafta share 'em with Negan," he joked.

Carol huffed our a breathy laugh. "Well, you won't have to share R.J. That child lives in a world all his own. I'm not sure he's aware Negan even exists."

"He seems awful smart. Mathematical-minded kid. Pays attention to the way things are put together and how stuff works. He's gonna be the architect of somethin' big, one day." He reached down to unlace and toe off his boots. "He'll build a city, or make a machine."

"Maybe we should send him to Eugene or Luke," Carol suggested. "They're the brainiacs of the communities. I'm hoping Michonne will be back by the time he's old enough for that, but if she's not..." The phrase remained hanging in the air long after the words had left her. They still spoke of Michonne's return, but it was troubling that she'd been gone over four months and sent no word. For all they knew she'd already been dead for weeks.

'I wish we knew what was up with her," Daryl said, reading her mind. "Is she safe? Does she need help? How was helpin' strangers so damn important she had to leave her kids in the middle of a war for months to do it?" He shook his head. "It just don't make sense. I'm beginnin' to think she had some other reason for leavin,' one she ain't tellin.'"

"Why wouldn't she tell us the truth, though?" Carol asked.

"That's the ten thousand dollar question, ain't it?" Daryl chewed on his lower lip, his tell for thinking hard. "Coulda had somethin' to do with Rick."

Rick? But he's been gone for years. If he was still alive, he'd have come home, by now."

"Ya think? I dunno. It just ain't like Michonne. It ain't like her to just take off like that, and what the hell happened with the no weapons thing? I mean, she left to get weapons, last I knew, to help fight the horde, and then she's running off to help some people she just met? What about her friends and family back here fightin' the battle of our lives against the Whisperers? It ain't addin' up." He drew in a long breathe. "Only thing that could make her do that is Rick. If she found somethin' of Rick's, or heard somethin' to make her think he was still alive."

"Well, that's a very interesting theory, Detective Dixon, but what are we going to do with it now?" Carol asked.

"I wonder if Judith knows why she really left," he said. "That kid's got secret in her eyes. Somethin' sad about it. Kid that age shouldn't have or need secrets."

"But that's crazy," Carol argued, "why would she not tell us the truth? She's eleven."

"What if -- just sayin' -- what if Michonne went lookin' for Rick?" 

Carol started to refute him, then stopped herself and sank into an uneasy silence. Daryl's theory explained a lot. There was nothing that could compel Michonne to leave her kids for months on end, except the possibility of finding Rick. 

"Your silence speaks volumes," Daryl noted. "Been thinkin' about it for a while. It had to be a Rick thing, right? Otherwise, why...? Yeah?"

"Detective Dixon," she quipped.

"Stahp. You know what I'm sayin.'"

"I do. Hey. Get undressed. Let's go to bed." Carol slung her blouse over her head and unhooked her bra. She peered coyly at Daryl over her shoulder as he kicked off his pants and pulled his shirt off. He met her gaze and wrapped himself around her back, nibbling on the side of her neck. She squirmed and a giggle escaped her. "Tickles." She turned to face him and captured his mouth with hers in a long, passionate kiss. They were the same height when seated and a level kiss when they weren't lying down was to be properly savored. Carol tangled her fingers in Daryl's hair and nipped at his lower lip.

"Twoshot?" she proposed, licking her lips. "All that sugar has me wired. I need to burn off some excess energy."

**********

Lydia approached Aaron about the work he'd invested in the deer hide, and they negotiated a deal for rabbit skins in exchange. The catch was they couldn't have holes in their hides, so Lydia had to either shoot them in the head, snare them, or kill them with a rock. The deal was for six rabbits, and within the space of a week, she paid her debt in full. Aaron was only interested in the hides so the fam ate fried rabbit for a few days.

Lydia took the cookies and the hide to Negan the day after her talk with Daryl. Negan still lived in the cell although he was no longer locked in at night. He had added a couch and a couple tables and made it as homey as a jail cell could possibly be. The deer skin Lydia delivered was pliable and buttery soft and Negan declared it ideal for making new slings. He cut pouches and cords from the hide. Lydia paid close attention as he dampened each leather pouch, then cupped it around a stone to dry to shape. He braided three leather cords together for each string. They cut and set materials for four slings, then dug into the cookies Lydia had brought.

"Did the Queen Badass make these?" Negan asked, savoring his second. "I heard rumors she's one hell of a cook, in which case -- if she did make them? -- rumor is fact. And real chocolate? Damn. I bet ole Daryl'd be shittin' his pants if he knew you brought 'em."

"He knows," Lydia said. She curled up on the floor with her back against the bars. Negan had offered her the couch several times, but she always refused it and sat on the floor, instead.

"What, like the bowstrings? Kinda sounds like you're pushin' the envelope with him, kid."

"Daryl told me what you did to his friend, Glenn," Lydia said. "He gave details."

Negan set the remainder of the cookie he was eating aside and brushed the crumbs from his hands. "I'm sure he did." He knitted his fingers together over his knees. "And...?"

"Did you really bash him and knock out his eye, and then laugh and rub their faces in it?"

Negan drew in a deep, speculative breath. "I did." He drew no comfort from the memory of the fear, horror and grief he'd inflicted. "I had a method for making a point when I didn't want that point to be challenged, ever. Always worked, before Rick and the gang." 

"What point?" she asked with revulsion. "Torturing people? Daryl says you tortured him."

"The specifics off that would've been Dwight's handiwork," Negan excused. "I just told him to break the man down and make him one of ours. Didn't offer page by page instructions. But, as you well know, your Dad Daryl apparently cannot be broken. He's an animal too wild to tame. You got any idea how the hell he got all those scars on his back?" 

"Shut up," Lydia said. "I warned you... " She got to her feet and picked up her pack. "I've gotta go."

"Suit yourself," Negan said. "Thanks for the cookies. Come back tomorrow and I'll show you how to use a sling."

Lydia pulled the cell door closed with a loud bang behind her, and hesitated at the door to the stairs leading out of Alexandria's dungeon. Her hand was on the knob and she bowed her head and laid it against the door. "Why did you really do it?" she asked in a small voice.

For a long time Negan was silent and she didn't think he would answer. He picked up one of the cords he'd braided, turning it over and over in his hands.

"I was scared shitless by the Turn, just like everyone else with a pulse," he replied at last. "Figured the only way to keep control of the situation and stay alive every moment of every goddamn day was to ensure the people around me were more afraid than I was, at all times. Did it with brutality. Fear and intimidation. Offered some bullshit illlusion of security. Found a way to sustain that shit and hold it in place. Your mother understood it. She did the same fucking thing, just did it in the wilds of the great outdoors and without a concrete reward points system."

"Yeah and now she's dead," Lydia said. "She was a terrible person. She didn't have anything kind or gentle or caring left alive in her. Everything was just fear and pain and death." She turned her face to him and her eyes were full of conflict. "You did some of the same things she did, but Alpha never helped anyone in her life unless there was something in it for her."

"You asked why I did it. So I told you why. Nothing more than that." Negan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Kid, you shouldn't be coming down here and bringing me stuff. Shouldn't be spending much time with me at all, actually. People are going to start talking shit, and I can just imagine how that'll go down with Dad Daryl and the fam."

"Dad Daryl and the fam already know about it," she replied, not missing a beat. "We had a discussion last night."

"About me?" Negan asked. "Jesus Christ, kid, I'm flattered. Were you even going to mention that?"

"Not sure what's the point. Wasn't anything bad." She shrugged. "I said you were my friend and Daryl said we hate it, but okay. Not his exact words, but, you know... it's what he meant."

Negan tilted his head to the side and watched her down his nose. "He say anything else?"

"He called you my 'other dad,'" she admitted. "You happy now?"

"Oh, shit! So when I just now called him your Dad Daryl, he's really --"

"Don't! Don't? Can't you ever shut up?" Lydia snapped impatiently. "Jesus, Negan. I need to go. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure those slings are ready to use. I'm not gonna just sit around and waste time listening to your bullshit all day."

**********

A week later, Daryl and Carol walked out the gate with loaded packs and their weapons. Each carried a gallon of drinkable water, in case they were unable to extract or use the water in the well in the pit. They had extra matches and some salt and pepper and a couple of towels and wash cloths and not much else besides their blades and bows. Everything else they needed was already in the bunker. 

Negan waved at them in a mocking imitation of a princess in a float parade. "Bon voyage. Y'all come back soon now, hear?" Cocking his head to one side like the Victrola dog and smirking.

"I fuckin' hate his arrogant ass," Daryl muttered beneath his breath.

"I know, Pookie, I know. At least we don't have to share our house with him," Carol said.

That later turned out to be only partially true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the situation between Lydia and Negan needed to be addressed, and it was time for Carol to bake some cookies, too.


	6. Their Splendid Subterranea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caryl get some alone time.

They were barely out of sight of the gate when Carol glanced back and hissed, "Shit!"

Daryl also looked over his shoulder, just in time to glimpse the shadowy specter trailing after them as it disappeared behind a tree. "Dog! Dammit."

They stopped and dropped their packs. "You taking him back, or should I?" Carol asked.

"Nah, I got 'im. C'mon, Dog. Let's go home, boy." He started walking back toward the ASZ, but Dog wasn't taking the bait. Daryl walked over to the tree to find Dog had plastered himself belly down to the earth behind it, ears flattened in submission, the tip of his tail barely wagging as his expressive eyes silently begged to go with.

"Sorry," Daryl sighed, truly apologetic. "Not this time." He gestured for Dog to come, and the animal got up with an audible sigh, then trotted down the road just ahead of him all the way back, as if Dog were the one escorting Daryl to the gates. 

Father Gabriel was manning the gate, as he usually was when they left early. Neither Daryl nor Gabriel had anything to tie Dog with, and Daryl wasn't sure if he had snuck out with them or somebody else, or found another way around the fence. Daryl decided to just take Dog to the house and ask the fam to keep an eye on him long enough to discourage him from following. 

"He probably snuck out when Negan and Lydia left," Gabriel said. "They both walked out the gate not five minutes after you two did." He smiled. "They were a little preoccupied. Couldn't decide whether they were going after pheasants or turkeys."

Daryl tried to shut down the grating sensation that rolled around his chest whenever he was reminded of Lydia's bond with Negan. It was telling that Lydia calculated their departure to follow immediately after her guardian's.

"They should'a paid more attention to their surroundin's on the way out the door. Can't see a big dog followin', how they expect to sneak up on somethin' as jumpy as a wild bird?" Daryl huffed, shaking his head. He couldn't allow himself to focus on that shit right now. He led Dog up to the brownstone just as Judith was coming out with a ledger under her arm.

"Jude, will you keep an eye on Dog? Think he snuck out the gate with Lydia. Was followin' us."

"Sure," Judith reached out and petted Dog's head and scratched his ruff. "I'll take him back in the house for a while. Till you're out far enough." She peered up at him. "You and Aunt Carol will be careful, won't you?"

"'Course we will, you know that," Daryl assured. "Gone for a couple nights, is all."

"I don't understand why you won't tell anyone where you're going," she said plaintively, concern in her dark eyes. "What if something happened while you were out there? No one even knows where to search for you if you don't come home. If you had Dog with you, at least he could lead us back to you if you got into trouble."

Daryl sensed her concern was coming from a deeper place that had nothing to do with him or Carol. The child's own mother had walked out through the entrance to Oceanside months ago and not yet returned. Maybe she even had memories of Rick's disappearance. Judith was more cognizant now of the possibilities for people leaving and not coming back, and it was written all over her concerned, young face.

Daryl struggled to find a way to explain that he could speak out loud without blushing clear to the roots of his hair. "Sometimes it's important to not be followed. I can't really get into it any more than that. "We're pretty good at looking after ourselves out there. Your Aunt Carol, she --"

"I know, I know," Judith said, waving him off. "Carol the lone wolf. Everyone knows the stories, Uncle Daryl. I'm sure she'll keep you safe out there on your rendezvous."  
Daryl looked at her quickly as she ducked her head to hide her mischievous grin. 

"Right," he agreed. "Damn straight. Thanks for watchin' the dog, Asskicker. I gotta go now. Carol's waitin' down the road." He paused on the stoop until Judith went inside with Dog and closed the door, then turned and trotted back down the steps.

Gabriel was still manning the gate and let him back out. "A dog is a good companion to take along to watch for danger," he said slyly, watching the hunter out of the corner of his eye. "I'm surprised you're leaving him behind."

Daryl struggled to find a way to explain that he could speak out loud without blushing clear to the roots of his hair. "Sometimes it's important to not be followed. I can't really get into it any more than that. "We're pretty good at looking after ourselves out there. Your Aunt Carol, she --"

"I know, I know," Judith said, waving him off. "Carol the lone wolf. Everyone knows the stories, Uncle Daryl. I'm sure she'll keep you safe out there on your rendezvous."

Daryl looked at her quickly as she ducked her head to hide her mischievous grin. 

"Right," he agreed. "Damn straight. Thanks for watchin' the dog, Asskicker. I gotta go now. Carol's waitin' down the road." He paused on the stoop until Judith went inside with Dog and closed the door, then turned and trotted back down the steps.

Gabriel was still manning the gate and let him back out. "A dog is a good companion to take along to watch for danger," he said slyly, watching the hunter out of the corner of his eye. "I'm surprised you're leaving him behind."

"Don't you start, too," Daryl growled, while Gabriel chuckled. "You both stay safe out there," he said.

Carol was sitting down on her pack and picking her nails with her knife. When she saw Daryl returning, she wiped the tip of the blade carefully on her pants leg, then stood and sheathed the weapon. She lifted her pack and put it on, adjusting the straps, and looked up at him with a broad smile and a sparkle in her blue eyes. 

"You keep smilin' at me like that, Im'a have to kiss it right off you," Daryl warned with mock severity. "Don't make me do it." He feinted and made a grab for her.

Carol let out a bubbly, musical giggle and dodged his grasp. She started running down the road with Daryl chasing her. The clomping of their boots and weight of her pack made Carol realize running on asphalt in combat boots with a loaded pack was probably not good for their backs or their knees. She veered off the side of the road onto the gravel shoulder, slowing until she heard Daryl's boots in the gravel as well. He caught her by the waist and spun her around and dipped her back they locked into a passionate kiss, Carol tangling her fingers in his hair.

They finally broke apart and straightened up, smiling and doubling over with laughter like it was the funniest thing ever. Then Carol took off running again and Daryl followed. They kept running.

**********

Negan was ready and waiting when Lydia came down to his cell. It was early, barely light out.

"You ready?" she asked. "I thought they would never leave, but they just did."

"I was born ready, kid. Got the slings. You bring your canteen, this time?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. It was just the one time I forgot."

"In this world, once is enough," he warned. "You don't always get a second chance."

They left the road quickly and coasted through a wooded area to check out a grassy field from the tree line. The field was alongside the road, which happened to be where Carol and Daryl stopped when they realized Dog was tracking them. 

Negan and Lydia didn't speak. They both settled down into the shadow of the trees and watched in silence as the couple noticed the dog following them, halted and dropped their packs. Daryl attempted unsuccessfully to summon the animal to his side. They saw him march to the tree and scowl half heartedly down at what they presumed was Dog. After a brief exchange, Daryl started walking back the way they'd come. Dog leaped up from the shadows and trotted out in front of him, tail held high. They watched as Carol sat on her pack and scanned her surroundings with the sharp gaze of a raptor. Eventually she unsheathed her knife and began studiously cleaning her nails with it, occasionally raising her head to scan the immediate area for walkers or other threats. 

When Daryl returned, they put their packs back on, then had some kind of playful exchange where Daryl grabbed at her and she dodged him. They were both smiling and laughing out loud. Carol started to run and Daryl chased after and caught her, whipping her around in his arms as if she were weightless, dipping her toward the ground as he kissed her. 

It was fascinating to watch them when they thought they were alone. Lydia and Negan were equally transfixed by this previously unseen side of the two local legends. They watched as Carol and Daryl separated with obvious reluctance, laughing and joking, then Carol started running down the road with Daryl hot on her heels. Negan grinned and shook his head. If anyone had told him he'd see those two teasing each other in the street and galloping away like grade schoolers at recess, he'd have called them a liar for certain.

Negan turned to find Lydia watching him. "Those two looked like your Dad Daryl and the Queen Badass, but I'm not so sure. Maybe they're imposters. I mean, they were laughing and smiling and kissing and shit."

Lydia shot him a look. "They do that, sometimes."

Negan barked out a laugh. "Since when?"

"Since they hooked up," Lydia said, in a tone suggesting the whole world had this knowledge and Negan and clearly missed the memo. "Since that night. Hey, you've never said anything about that, and you ride them over everything else, why?"

Negan shrugged, but his eyes were solemn. "Seems that's a bridge too far. Plenty of other people still razz them about it, I wouldn't want to steal their thunder. Daryl's touchy on the best of days. Way too emotional, that guy. Makes him more dangerous than me, in some ways."

Lydia eyed him suspiciously but said nothing more. They picked up their bows and slunk along the tree line, keeping Daryl and Carol in their line of vision until the couple ran swiftly on light feet up and over the crest of a hill, and vanished from view.

***********

Carol rolled over on the futon after they finished and propped herself up on an elbow to watch him while Daryl got up and walked naked to the nearest niche and lit one of his home rolled cigarettes. He blew the smoke up into the ventilation hole. "I can feel you starin' at my ass," he said.

"Your feelings are correct," she confirmed. "Not only am I staring at it, I also plan to be holding on to you by it very soon..."

They had been in the honeymoon suite for at least a day. Except for the chill, which they hadn't figured out how to alleviate, it was working out be everything they'd hoped for. Lighting more candles warmed it by a couple degrees, but it was a waste of the candles, and they weren't certain dozens of flames wouldn't suck all the oxygen out of the room. Same went for the propane stove, although that was deemed for heating water only. They'd brought warm lounge clothes with them from home just in case, but they spent a lot of their time wearing nothing and rolled up in the abundant blankets. Carol was clad in only her skin at this time, with a thick blanket pulled up and around her.

"You're insatiable," Daryl said, finishing his smoke and crushing it out in the niche.

"No, you're insatiable."

"I said it first," Daryl countered.

Carol snorted. "You did not. I've said it several times in the past."

They eyed one another in sappy adoration by candlelight, two lovesick fools enjoying and wallowing in it in the privacy of their own underground paradise. They rapidly became different creatures down here, at peace in the knowledge they could unleash their inner beasts and deepest vulnerabilities without fear and be safe with one another. Their encounters at times were alternately or simultaneously bestial and transcendental. They would come back to themselves afterward as dazed as if they'd been heavily drugged and spirited to another dimension.

Carol rolled onto her back and opened the blanket and her arms. "Please help me, doctor, I'm afflicted. I have this constant need and only you hold the cure."

"Constant, huh?" He dropped down over her and nuzzled the crook of her neck as she squirmed in delight and let out a giggle. "D'you give any thought to how you're gonna walk all the way back home after satisfyin' this need a' yours? My tender parts are beginning' to burn, I know yours gotta be."

"I am willing to suffer for my happiness," she said dramatically, hooking her legs over his shoulders and hanging onto his ass as promised, as he nudged into her. Daryl gripped her thighs and probed her depths, seeking the places that elicited whimpers, cries and moans. He recorded them all, mapping her like a puzzle he was putting together in his mind. When he did this, she responded like that. By this time he knew most of what she enjoyed, and his goals didn't extend much beyond inundating her with pleasure until she came apart in his arms. It was his very favorite thing, making Carol come apart.

She'd had a couple brief claustrophobic moments in the bunker so far, and they'd passed quickly. They exited the bunker a couple times to raid the farmhouse for some furniture and the drapes, red, gold and cream with a floral pattern. Hanging the brightly colored fabric around the bunker alleviated some of that closed-in feeling. So far she'd done mostly fine with the limited space. 

Daryl struggled to find a way to explain that he could speak out loud without blushing clear to the roots of his hair. "Sometimes it's important to not be followed. I can't really get into it any more than that. "We're pretty good at looking after ourselves out there. Your Aunt Carol, she --"

"I know, I know," Judith said, waving him off. "Carol the lone wolf. Everyone knows the stories, Uncle Daryl. I'm sure she'll keep you safe out there on your rendezvous."

Daryl looked at her quickly as she ducked her head to hide her mischievous grin. 

"Right," he agreed. "Damn straight. Thanks for watchin' the dog, Asskicker. I gotta go now. Carol's waitin' down the road." He paused on the stoop until Judith went inside with Dog and closed the door, then turned and trotted back down the steps.

Gabriel was still manning the gate and let him back out. "A dog is a good companion to take along to watch for danger," he said slyly, watching the hunter out of the corner of his eye. "I'm surprised you're leaving him behind."

"Don't you start, too," Daryl growled, while Gabriel chuckled. "You both stay safe out there," he said.

Carol was sitting down on her pack and picking her nails with her knife. When she saw Daryl returning, she wiped the tip of the blade carefully on her pants leg, then stood and sheathed the weapon. She lifted her pack and put it on, adjusting the straps, and looked up at him with a broad smile and a sparkle in her blue eyes. 

"You keep smilin' at me like that, Im'a have to kiss it right off you," Daryl warned with mock severity. "Don't make me do it." He feinted and made a grab for her.

Carol let out a bubbly, musical giggle and dodged his grasp. She started running down the road with Daryl chasing her. The clomping of their boots and weight of her pack made Carol realize running on asphalt in combat boots with a loaded pack was probably not good for their backs or their knees. She veered off the side of the road onto the gravel shoulder, slowing until she heard Daryl's boots in the gravel as well. He caught her by the waist and spun her around and dipped her back they locked into a passionate kiss, Carol tangling her fingers in his hair.

They finally broke apart and straightened up, smiling and doubling over with laughter like it was the funniest thing ever. Then Carol took off running again and Daryl followed. They kept running.

**********

Negan was ready and waiting when Lydia came down to his cell. It was early, barely light out.

"You ready?" she asked. "I thought they would never leave, but they just did."

"I was born ready, kid. Got the slings. You bring your canteen, this time?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. It was just the one time I forgot."

"In this world, once is enough," he warned. "You don't always get a second chance."

They left the road quickly and coasted through a wooded area to check out a grassy field from the tree line. The field was alongside the road, which happened to be where Carol and Daryl stopped when they realized Dog was tracking them. 

Negan and Lydia didn't speak. They both settled down into the shadow of the trees and watched in silence as the couple noticed the dog following them, halted and dropped their packs. Daryl attempted unsuccessfully to summon the animal to his side. They saw him march to the tree and scowl half heartedly down at what they presumed was Dog. After a brief exchange, Daryl started walking back the way they'd come. Dog leaped up from the shadows and trotted out in front of him, tail held high. They watched as Carol sat on her pack and scanned her surroundings with the sharp gaze of a raptor. Eventually she unsheathed her knife and began studiously cleaning her nails with it, occasionally raising her head to scan the immediate area for walkers or other threats. 

When Daryl returned, they put their packs back on, then had some kind of playful exchange where Daryl grabbed at her and she dodged him. They were both smiling and laughing out loud. Carol started to run and Daryl chased after and caught her, whipping her around in his arms as if she were weightless, dipping her toward the ground as he kissed her. 

It was fascinating to watch them when they thought they were alone. Lydia and Negan were equally transfixed by this previously unseen side of the two local legends. They watched as Carol and Daryl separated with obvious reluctance, laughing and joking, then Carol started running down the road with Daryl hot on her heels. Negan grinned and shook his head. If anyone had told him he'd see those two teasing each other in the street and galloping away like grade schoolers at recess, he'd have called them a liar for certain.

Negan turned to find Lydia watching him. "Those two looked like your Dad Daryl and the Queen Badass, but I'm not so sure. Maybe they're imposters. I mean, they were laughing and smiling and kissing and shit."

Lydia shot him a look. "They do that, sometimes."

Negan barked out a laugh. "Since when?"

"Since they hooked up," Lydia said, in a tone suggesting the whole world had this knowledge and Negan and clearly missed the memo. "Since that night. Hey, you've never said anything about that, and you ride them over everything else, why?"

Negan shrugged, but his eyes were solemn. "Seems that's a bridge too far. Plenty of other people still razz them about it, I wouldn't want to steal their thunder. Daryl's touchy on the best of days. Way too emotional, that guy. Makes him more dangerous than me, in some ways."

Lydia eyed him suspiciously but said nothing more. They picked up their bows and slunk along the tree line, keeping Daryl and Carol in their line of vision until the couple ran swiftly on light feet up and over the crest of a hill, and vanished from view.

***********

Carol rolled over on the futon after they finished and propped herself up on an elbow to watch him while Daryl got up and walked naked to the nearest niche and lit one of his home rolled cigarettes. He blew the smoke up into the ventilation hole. "I can feel you starin' at my ass," he said.

"Your feelings are correct," she confirmed. "Not only am I staring at it, I also plan to be holding on to you by it very soon..."

They had been in the honeymoon suite for at least a day. Except for the chill, which they hadn't figured out how to alleviate, it was working out be everything they'd hoped for. Lighting more candles warmed it by a couple degrees, but it was a waste of the candles, and they weren't certain dozens of flames wouldn't suck all the oxygen out of the room. Same went for the propane stove, although that was deemed for heating water only. They'd brought warm lounge clothes with them from home just in case, but they spent a lot of their time wearing nothing and rolled up in the abundant blankets. Carol was clad in only her skin at this time, with a thick blanket pulled up and around her.

"You're insatiable," Daryl said, finishing his smoke and crushing it out in the niche.

"No, you're insatiable."

"I said it first," Daryl countered.

Carol snorted. "You did not. I've said it several times in the past."

They eyed one another in sappy adoration by candlelight, two lovesick fools enjoying and wallowing in it in the privacy of their own underground paradise. They rapidly became different creatures down here, at peace in the knowledge they could unleash their inner beasts and deepest vulnerabilities without fear and be safe with one another. Their encounters at times were alternately or simultaneously bestial and transcendental. They would come back to themselves afterward as dazed as if they'd been heavily drugged and spirited to another dimension.

Carol rolled onto her back and opened the blanket and her arms. "Please help me, doctor, I'm afflicted. I have this constant need and only you hold the cure."

"Constant, huh?" He dropped down over her and nuzzled the crook of her neck as she squirmed in delight and let out a giggle. "D'you give any thought to how you're gonna walk all the way back home after satisfyin' this need a' yours? My tender parts are beginning' to burn, I know yours gotta be."

"I am willing to suffer for my happiness," she said dramatically, hooking her legs over his shoulders and hanging onto his ass as promised, as he nudged into her. Daryl gripped her thighs and probed her depths, seeking the places that elicited whimpers, cries and moans. He recorded them all, mapping her like a puzzle he was putting together in his mind. When he did this, she responded like that. By this time he knew most of what she enjoyed, and his goals didn't extend much beyond inundating her with pleasure until she came apart in his arms. It was his very favorite thing, making Carol come apart.

She'd had a couple brief claustrophobic moments in the bunker so far, and they'd passed quickly. They exited the bunker a couple times to raid the farmhouse for some furniture and the drapes, red, gold and cream with a floral pattern. Hanging the brightly colored fabric around the bunker alleviated some of that closed-in feeling. So far she'd done mostly fine with the limited space. 

They verified that the second hatch opened up into a crawl space under a staircase inside the house. Daryl had taken the lead in the expedition and quickly determined the restrictive enclosure would send Carol into the same spiral of claustrophobia she'd experienced in the cave, if not worse. It was cramped and tiny for him, and he suspected Carol would lose her shit if she got stuck in a space that size for more than a couple minutes. There was a short, squat door under the stairwell but it was locked on the opposite side of the bunker. It was a probable escape if they needed one, and walkers were unlikely to get into it. They closed the trapdoor again and after some discussion, left the bolt unlatched. It was obvious no one knew it was there and leaving it unlocked provided an alternate access point, should they get stuck outside, unable to reach the trapdoor in the yard. On one of their trips into the house, they verified that the exit door under the stairs had a simple latch and not a keyed lock. They left it closed and locked.

In between bouts of rolling passionately around on the futon, they inspected the contents of the shelves and the rest of the bunker. They determined there were originally enough supplies down there to sustain a family of six for about three months. It was obviously the bug out bunker for the family that had lived in the farmhouse. Whatever happened to them, they weren't returning.

They examined everything in there they'd missed the first time. The remaining bins on the shelves held dried beans; pinto beans, kidney beans and navy beans. The bins Carol had dragged to the trapdoor held elbow macaroni and more rice. They had opened the still-sealed bins by carefully pulling back the tape and without using their knives. After removing some from each for personal use, they re-sealed all of the bins except the kidney beans, deciding to take those back home and to the community kitchen. They'd brought several large pouches with drawstring closures to transport the dry goods in. 

They inventoried the guns in the bunker and decided to leave half of them right where they were. Besides the pistol Carol took home the last time, there were five rifles; a .22, a .243, a 30.06 and two AR-15's, and three handguns; a .357 magnum revolver, a 9mm automatic and a .38 Special. There was also a 12 gauge shotgun. The bin of ammunition held at least 300 rounds for each firearm. 

They decided to take the 30.06, the .243, one of the AR-15's, the shotgun and the .38 back with them. Daryl was himself interested in trying the shotgun to hunt game birds. He'd been thinking about pheasants ever since seeing Negan's, and even as skilled as she was with the bow, it was unlikely Lydia would be good enough with the sling to bring anything to the table with it for months. 

They'd also discovered a smaller container, missed before, that held a sack of unopened packets of lantern mantles, two vacuum sealed boxes of kosher salt and a container of peppercorns with a grinder. This discovery caused them to smile sheepishly between themselves about the little packets of salt and pepper they'd brought from home. 

They had tested the propane stove and lantern first, carrying them briefly up into the open air for a trial run. Daryl tied a pair of fresh mantles on before taking the lantern up top. After assuring themselves that both appliances operated correctly and that the propane was still good, they deemed them usable within the confines of the bunker. The lantern cast a harsh, blinding light, and they hung a piece of fabric in between the lantern and the rest of the space to mute the stark brightness. They decided to only use the stove for heating water, and the lantern when arriving and when packing to leave. 

The top shelf held several large packages of toilet paper they'd missed before due to there being a tarp wrapped around them all. Carol let out a whoop when she uncovered them, then opened a package and pulled out three rolls. She tossed one to Daryl, then another. Laughing, they attempted to juggle the rolls back and forth across the bunker. The rolls began unraveling and trailed streaming white tails of paper to criss-cross the futon.

"This reminds me of when I was a kid and we t.p.-ed somebody's yard," Carol observed. She picked up one of the rolls and began to wrap it back up again. "Should we take any home with us? God, it's so bulky. It's not as if we can come back with some twice, right? Someone will get to thinking we've got a secret stash." While this was frowned upon, almost everyone did it. She imagined packing one of the light, but large packages back to Alexandria, balancing it atop her head like a Sherpa.

"Maybe when we bring the bike?" Daryl suggested. "Just strap one on the back."

Carol nodded, "Good thinking."

There was a smallish aluminum bucket and enough rope on the shelf to dip down into the well. The water was ice cold and crystal clear, but they filtered it with one of the water filters to be safe. It wasn't as if they had a way to test it for parasites, and they didn't want to learn that particular lesson through trial and error. 

They celebrated their first night in the honeymoon suite with a dinner of chicken teriyaki and a country breakfast scramble and green tea with honey. Carol had brought several homemade tea sachets and a small jar of honey in her bag, along with some sourdough bread from Alexandria. They curled up together under a double layer of blankets and fed each other from the foil packets with their sporks. It was so quiet down there that Carol could hear them both breathing. It was all she could hear. She started to have a moment.

Daryl stuck his spork in his pouch and set it down. "Carol?" He turned toward her in concern.

She set her food down, too. "It's too quiet in here. Messes with me. Just... need a minute."

"Should we get dressed? You wanna go outside, get some air?"

"No, Daryl... thank you, I'll be fine. Here, just... come here a sec?" She turned into him and he wrapped his arms around her while she burrowed beneath his chin and closed her eyes. "There's nothing to hear down here, except us, and it got to me. There's always some kind of sounds, nature sounds, even when we're all being quiet because of the horde. It's just so still in here." She scoffed. "Can you believe that? Of all the things to set me off." Carol shook her head against his chest. "Blindfold, please." She started to get that suffocating sensation. 

Daryl hesitated. "You want to be blindfolded?" he asked. She could tell he wasn't altogether comfortable with that particular role play. She wondered if someone had done that to him for the opposite of pleasure. The things he had mentioned of his father's torture were horrific, even to Carol, who'd suffered under Ed.

"Yes, please," she mumbled. "Use your rag."

"It's dirty."

"I don't care. Just do it." 

"'Long as you're sure... " he said, disengaging from her briefly to reach over to his pile of clothes and pull the red rag from the pocket of his pants. Then he paused, shook his head, and got up. He picked up his knife from an end table, stepped over to the nearest drapery and cut a long, wide strip from the bottom. Carol raised her face to him as he folded it and laid it over her eyes, tying it carefully behind her head. She smiled as she felt the fabric cover her face. "That's better," she said, sounding instantly calmer. "Make sure it won't come off on its own."

"It's on there pretty good," Daryl assured her. He stroked her cheek gently. "Ain't goin' nowhere but you can take it off easy if you wanted to." He leaned toward her and kissed her softly.

"Lie back," he murmured. "Let me make you feel good." He nipped at the side of her throat and she shivered, but she laid down, keeping herself rolled in one of the blankets. She relaxed and complied when Daryl took hold of both her legs just above the knee and spread them apart. She felt him pulling away, then his hands on either side of her center, opening her up, followed by the wet heat of his mouth. Carol soon let out a low groan and started to writhe and squirm. Her noises spurred him on as he used his tongue and fingers on her in the ways he knew she enjoyed most. The sounds of passion and pleasure replaced the silence that had initially bothered her.

"Turn around," Carol cried. "Let me have some of you." Her small, strong hands clutched at his body to hasten him around as he pivoted on the futon until both of them were lying on their sides. A sharp cry escaped him as she engulfed him between her eager lips.

Carol, holy fuckin' hell," Daryl gasped, before diving back in. They lost themselves in sensation, bringing each other repeatedly to the brink, only to back off and then tease up to the edge of orgasm all over again. They engaged with the sole intention of inflicting excruciating pleasure, oblivious to everything except sustaining their partner's enjoyment. The sounds they made were just for them, and they filled the bunker with their own music until Carol went off first with an animalistic cry which, combined with the subsequent clutching heat of her hungry mouth on him, was enough to sent Daryl careening over the edge.

After they both "returned to the mortal plane," as Carol referred to it, she flipped around and cuddled up under Daryl's chin again, sharing her blanket with him. They kissed, and tasted themselves on their tongues. Carol reached up and pulled the blindfold slowly off her head. She blinked at him and smiled. "Feeling much better now," she murmured, nuzzling him. "Thanks, Pookie."

"Any time," Daryl rasped, feeling weak and drained and very relaxed. He still struggled to let his guard down in the bunker, but it was getting easier. "Kinda hard to stay focused though, when you're doin' that thing with your tongue."

"I could say the same," she purred. "You're the only man who could ever touch me and make me feel like I wasn't here anymore, like I wasn't even me. In a good way," she added hastily. Daryl wondered what memory of Ed had likely flashed through her mind. "I love it when you touch me," she told him, "sometimes you barely put your hands on me and I'm already halfway there."

"You keep the soldier standin' at attention, yourself," he murmured in her ear, nibbling on it and making her shiver. 

They cuddled for a bit, then Carol drew away and sat up. "I'm hungry," she asserted, reaching for the open pouch of chicken teriyaki she'd set aside. The entree was cold now, but she was ravenous and didn't care. They both finished their meals, scraping the pouches clean, and wiped off their sporks. Carol had opened another packet of the chocolate bars and they split one for dessert, licking their fingers and laughing together like children. 

"Feel kinda guilty," Daryl mused. "Havin' fun. Eatin' candy and this fine, freeze-dried cuisine." Carol snorted. "Sleepin' in late and wallowin' in your bare magnificence all hours of the day," he continued as she flushed and smiled, flattered. "Just you an' me and no one else to answer to or be responsible for, and no one clutchin' at our sleeves. Ain't used to feelin' this good, or this selfish."

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Carol murmured. "We're coming here twice a month. At least." She examined an edge of the blanket. "We're going to have to figure out the laundry situation. Maybe we can each carry a blanket back with us every time, clean ones coming in and dirty going out. It stands to reason we'd carry blankets when we go out for a rendezvous," she finished, emphasizing the word like Lydia did. "These are going to get nasty fast."

"Speakin' of nasty," Daryl said, "what's the plan for the blue bags?" Carol had succeeded in persuading him of the wisdom in this option. It was an efficient, simple, and sanitary method of dealing with their own waste while they were down in the bunker.

"There are a couple canvas tote bags, we can use one of them to carry the blue bags out when we leave. We can bury them somewhere between here and home," Carol explained. "Leave no trace. We can take the bag back with us, our leave it someplace to pick up on the way out the next time."

Daryl shrugged and made a face. "Whatever you say. Bad enough we gotta use 'em. Seems they ain't all that environmentally friendly."

"Since when do you give a shit about the environment?" Carol asked with a laugh. "The environment's been kicking all our asses since the Turn. I think it'll be just fine." She reached playfully for him beneath the blankets, and he barked out a short laugh.

"We do the deed much more today and one or both of us is liable to start bleedin,'" Daryl warned, only half-joking.

"But I told you," she purred, running both hands up his chest and tantalizing his nipples with her fingertips, "I need it like air. I need you."

Daryl took her face in both hands and kissed her hard, his fingers tangling in the long, silver locks of her hair. He felt her go limp and boneless in his grip, surrendering herself to him completely. He growled and wrapped his arms around her torso and rolled until he was on top of her, then he gently bit her throat and shoulder. He felt her shudder.

"All right?" He rasped cautiously. 

"All kinds of all right," she gasped. "Don't stop. I want you to take me, Daryl. Make me yours."

He drove into her hard, and she arched back into the blanket with a gasp, her thighs falling wider apart as she got a grip on his shoulders. "Yes," she said. "Give me all of it. I wont break."

He hadn't fucked her this hard before, and once he started, it was difficult to stop. She was hot and drenched and he was driven by an animalistic lust and hunger that had him shoving her across the futon with the force of his thrusts. He stopped himself and started to draw back once, and she made a guttural noise and sunk her nails into his shoulders, pulling him down to her. This time, she bit him. He slammed his pelvis roughly against hers again and again until her whole body went rigid, and then she shouted and clawed at him and bit his ear as he emptied himself inside her with a strangled cry. They lay in each other's arms, panting, pulses slowing, a little shocked.

"Did I hurt you?" Daryl asked, concerned. "Didn't mean to -- couldn't help it --" he offered lamely. 

"Mmmm," she hummed, brushing his fringe back, her blue eyes smiling into his. "That was the first time in my entire life I got off without help from additional appendages," she said coyly. "Didn't even know I could come that way." She giggled. "You're such a stud." She raised her head from the futon and playfully licked the end of his nose.

"Pfft," he chuffed, flushed with pride and a little embarrassment. "Sometimes I do all right. You're the one with all the moves." He started to lift himself off her, and she clung to him.

"Don't go?" she asked. "Stay with me a while longer." She hooked her ankles around his and he laughed. 

"Ain't goin' nowhere when you wrap your tentacles round me like that," he chuckled. "Dunno if I can repeat that performance, though. Kind of got the burn."

"Me too," she admitted. "In a good way, but it... stings a bit." She tightened her grip on him. "Don't pull out, yet. I don't think we'll be doing this again today and I want to hang onto you for as long as I can."

************

Neither of them wore a watch, both got a shock when they went to have a peek up top, believing it to be the middle of the night, and finding themselves blinking painfully in bright afternoon sun. "Well, shit," Daryl said. "Glad we got the walkie." They crawled up and out and walked a little distance away from the bunker to make radio contact with Alexandria to let the fam know they were running a day late. They also learned the horde was still a safe distance away and not likely to interfere with their return the following morning. After the radio call, they quickly descended back into the pit.

"Good grief, you lose all sense of time down here," Carol said, awed. "I thought it was around midnight, maybe two a.m. We'll need to be sure and bring a watch with us next time."

They'd planned to get up in the morning and go, and now here it was the middle of the next day and dark in a few hours and they were six miles from home, on foot and hadn't packed a thing for the return trip. Their clothes and the contents of their packs were strewn all over the bunker's interior. They had taken great delight in enthusiastically tearing off each other's clothes the moment they'd arrived.

"We'll need to stay the night again," Daryl said. His expression was concerned. "You gonna be okay with that?"

"Yeah. If not, you know, we can probably just do what we did last time."

"We can, but you don't need to have claustrophobia to get blindfolded or licked. If that's ever what you're wantin.' Just sayin.'" 

"I'll remember that," she said, looking pleased. "Thank you, Pookie. Same." 

"I gotta be honest, I'm in physical pain right now," he said. "My tongue's about the only thing that ain't rubbed raw, and it's gettin' close. Are we like, perverted? Is this normal? Half the time I feel like I can hardly control myself, it's like I just wanna... bury myself in you balls deep and soul deep and tell the rest of the world to fuck off forever."

Carol laughed. "Same," she chirped again. "Pretty sure it's just us," she said. "This is normal though, when things are good between a couple... I think. I know as little about healthy relationships as you do. I mean, Ezekiel -- he wasn't abusive, but we weren't exactly on the same wavelength, either." She'd seen his mouth imperceptibly tighten at mention of the King's name. "When you and I are together, I want to melt into you. Absorb everything about you, memorize every inch of your body, measure the sensitivity of every nerve ending... " She grabbed onto the front of his vest and pulled Daryl down to kiss him. "It's like time stands still when I'm with you, and we're... together. I don't have anything to compare it to. I've never felt this way before, and it's a little scary, but it's good, too. It's the best thing ever," she asserted, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It's always been you, Daryl. Always. I'm sorry it took me so long to wake up."

"Nothin to be sorry about," he murmured. "I could'a spoke up, too. Long time ago."

"I know this is rich, coming from me," Carol said, "but if I'd been paying attention and actually listening to you, I might have heard what you were trying to tell me. I didn't. I wouldn't. That bad's on me."

"Ain't no bad between us and I told you we're not playin' the blame game," Daryl reminded her. "Gotta forgive yourself, Carol. Everyone who matters already has."

She ducked her head against his chest. "But it's so hard... "

Daryl snorted. "That's what you said earlier."

She laughed out loud and smacked his arm playfully. "You can be such a clown. You know what I mean."

"I do," he agreed. "We'll work on it together."

***********

They slept fitfully throughout the night, worried about getting the time wrong and leaving too late. Wrapped in and spooning beneath the blankets in their fleece pants and shirts in the wee hours of the morning, they were toasty and warm. Carol woke having to pee and put off creeping out from their warm nest as long as she could. She could see her breath as she exhaled white clouds puffing out into the cold. She gave a tiny groan of frustration.

Daryl shifted behind her and nuzzled the crook of her neck. "What is it?"

"Gotta pee. It's cold. Don't wanna get up," she murmured, snuggling deeper into the circle of his arms. "Sometimes it sucks to be a woman." She had a fleeting memory of explaining the tampons to Lydia, who'd been alternately fascinated and repulsed by the concept. Carol wasn't quite sure how the young woman had been dealing with her flows till now, and she hadn't asked. 

"Bein' a man ain't always a bed a' roses, neither," Daryl countered.

"Pfft," Carol huffed. "At least you don't get pregnant or have periods, and you can pee in a bottle." The moment of truth was approaching and rapidly gaining momentum. She was going to have to either exit their toasty cocoon or whiz in her pajamas. She sat up and exited the pocket of warmth, grateful she had put her socks and lounge wear back on before they slept. She picked up her flashlight, opened the door to the chamber and padded down the tunnel to the place where they kept their sanitation buckets and blue bags.

When she returned to the chamber, Carol washed her hands, lit the stove burner, and set water to boil for tea and breakfast. When she returned to the futon and sat on the edge to wait, Daryl sat up and whipped the blankets around them both like a cape, enveloping her in warmth. Carol hummed and leaned back against him, then turned and burrowed into his chest. "You're so warm," she said. "Like you've always got the furnace going in there."

"Pfft. Just run hot. Always have," he deflected the compliment.

"You're hot, all right..."

"Stahp. I ain't hot that way. Just another dirty white boy, is all. S'prised you're into me s'much. Not complainin,'" he added swiftly. 

"Surprised I'm into you?" she repeated, frowning. "Say, what? Just thinking about being with you consumes me nearly every waking minute of the day. It's affected my performance as a contributing member of the community, because I'd so much rather be naked somewhere alone with you than wasting time on anything the Council might ask me to do. Have you not noticed my insatiable desire to bang you at every opportunity?" She nipped at his collarbone. "My nether regions are painfully raw, and I could still ride us both into the sunset, right now."

Daryl chuckled and Carol looked up at him. "Every time you touch me, it takes me further away from all the bad things," she said. "I wanted you for so long, Daryl. I had dreams about you. It was why I took the pills when I came back, why I ran away to sea. It was why I started taking patrols after supper. I couldn't bear to look at you and know I could never be with you. I could tell you sensed something, and so I ran away." She sighed. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I hurt both of us. I don't know why I couldn't be honest. I didn't think I deserved you, but that was only a piece of it." She grasped the edges of the blankets and adjusted them to shut out the cold air gaps. 

"You have always been the hottest man, to me," she went on. "I watched you every chance I got. Was a little sad when you started wearing sleeves," she added, and he scoffed and nudged her gently, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. "You were the only one I thought of when I touched myself," she whispered, her lips next to his. "Ever since we met. Even -- God forgive me -- when I was 'with' another man. So, don't sell yourself short. You've always been my fantasy, and the reality...? Is better than any fantasy, and that's the best part."

He nodded. They sat together, their foreheads touching, and engaged in one of those wordless conversations where they conveyed everything with their hands and eyes. They were fluent in the language of each other. The only sound Carol could hear was their breathing, and it didn't fill her with anxiety this time, but peace. She and Daryl were hidden away in their splendid subterranean hideaway, safe, provisioned, and temporarily free from the limitless horrors and heartbreaks that waited for them above ground. They were together under these blankets on this futon and neither one of them desired to be anywhere else, or with anybody else. 

"You're beautiful to me, Daryl," she whispered. "I need you to know that. If I could pick only one person in the whole world to save? It'd be you. That might damn me, one day, but it's true. I can't exist in this place without you in it. I'd rather be dead."

He cleared his throat. His voice was thick. "Same here," he said. "When I thought you were gone? Wished I was dead, too. A thousand times. Can't do that again." He paused, considering his next words. "I don't want us to be separated no more. I mean, maybe a day trip or a day hunt but how about no more overnights apart?"

"You had me at 'I don't want us to be separated.' Won't you get antsy being inside the walls so much? And you're on the Council. What if you're selected for something that requires travel to another settlement?"

"Then I won't," he said. "They can find someone else. You and I both done and sacrificed plenty for these people. Wasn't no problem, they're our people, our family. But there's others than can stand up now and share the heavy liftin.' We both done our parts and had plenty sufferin' of all kinds in our lives, and we got the scars to prove it. We ain't neither of us young anymore, and either of us keep goin' out there alone, sooner or later somethin's gonna happen. Ain't like we're fightin' a known enemy now, aside from walkers. Someone else can wear the damn hero mantle." He looked at her hard. "That goes for you, too, Carol. Please. No more explosives or settin' fires, tryn'a take out the whole horde by yourself. I need you to promise me, and mean it, this time."

The water was boiling and Carol turned off the stove and fixed them each a cup of tea and poured boiling water into two pouches of the freeze-dried breakfast meals. She stirred the contents and resealed the bags to let them hydrate.

"I promise I won't play the hero," Carol said, turning her head toward him to meet his eyes. "Unless it's about the fam."

"A direct threat to the fam," Daryl said. "Not none of this 'one for all, all for one' shit. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said, nodding. "What do we do in the event of general threat? Say, the horde's at the gate and we have a wall breach?"

"We take the fam and we run. To here, I guess. If we can make it this far. I mean, that's the point of leavin' so much shit here to begin with, right? We could stay safe in this place with the fam a long time. Wouldn't be comfortable and it sure the hell wouldn't be any fun, but we'd survive. That's the goal, right?"

Carol sighed and looked away. "I hate that we have to talk about these things," she said. "Life. Death. Duty. Survival. I just want to eat and have sex with my Pookie," she pouted flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes.

"Pfft. We try havin' sex again today and it's liable to fall right off," Daryl snorted. "Or is today tomorrow? Shit, we need to bring a watch or a clock or somethin' next time. Prob'ly should get up and pack," he said, glancing around at their possession strewn on the tables, the floor, and the shelves. "We need to bag up them kidney beans and tie these blankets on our packs to take back. Gotta bring the bike next time. Takes too long to walk here."

Carol sighed dramatically, and flung back the blankets to get up and get dressed. "You can be such a killjoy, Dixon."

"But you love me anyway," he dared with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"I do," she agreed. "I love you any way," she added, with a wink.

"Damn," Daryl said, shaking his head in admiration at her wit. "It's hard to keep up with you. You're always a step ahead."

They both reluctantly got up and changed into their regular pants and shirts. Since the full pouches of kidney beans took up a lot of space in their packs, they left their lounge clothes and some other clothing and items behind, tucking them into the plastic bin that had held the kidney beans.

They picked up the empty pouches and sachets from their previous meals and beverages, and generally cleaned the area while waiting for their food to be ready. They stored the bucket and rope and rolled up the blankets they'd dirtied the most to take back with them to launder. Carol put the knotted and closed blue bags and the empty food pouches into a canvas tote bag and would dump them somewhere between home and the bunker on their way back.

They carried substantially more with them leaving than arriving. They had three rifles and a handgun, boxes of ammunition, two blankets, and backpacks full of dry beans. They looked a little strange and lopsided coming down the road. Four times they had to detour to avoid oncoming herds, and once they had to climb up onto a roof and wait until a herd had passed. By the time they got back to Alexandria, it was nearly dark. After two days of constant sex and the hike to the bunker and back and the roof-climbing, they were wiped out.

***********

The fam were all chattering in the kitchen and didn't even notice when Daryl and Carol walked in. A savory smell of roasting meat filled the house. The couple carried their packs and the rifles to their room. To their consternation, the fam remained oblivious to their presence in the house even when the pair walked back upstairs. All three of the fam were still talking excitedly.

"Hey." Daryl said, rapping his knuckles on the wall. The fam instantly fell silent, startled to be caught off guard.

Daryl and Carol approached the counter. "Coulda killed all y'all," Daryl drawled. "Thought we taught you to be more observant of your surroundin's." 

"Well, you just got here," Judith said defensively.

"Not really," Carol replied. "We came in and dumped our stuff in our room first. We packed a lot in here under all three of your noses. Three rifles and a shotgun. Not one of you had a clue. Zero. Just... remember this, is all. We could have been Saviors, or Wolves, or Whisperers."  
Her gaze picked out Lydia and she perked up. "What'cha got going on there, girl? Smells really good."

Lydia flushed with pride at this unexpected praise. "I went hunting with Negan--" her eyes flickered to Daryl "--I went hunting yesterday, all day long. Then again this morning, and I got a turkey with my bow. I remember Thanksgiving when I was little, it was around this time of year, and our family would all get together and had a turkey dinner... "

"So we're cooking turkey dinner and invited our extended family," Judith announced proudly. "And, we knew you were coming home today, so we had that to celebrate, too."

"We were just on a run, sweetie," said Carol.

"There's no such thing as 'just a run,' Aunt Carol," Judith said politely.

"R.J. is getting his fishing pole," R.J. piped up. He was carefully slicing potatoes on the granite counter with a paring knife. Carol and Daryl did a double take, then caught themselves and schooled their faces to display no reaction. R.J.'s life could depend on his ability to use a knife on a walker, and the sooner he was familiar with handling a sharp blade, the better. At least if he cut himself now, Carol was present and available to treat and stitch his wound. She was still the closest thing Alexandria had to a doctor.

Daryl jumped in to prompt him. "R.J.'s gettin' his fishing pole..."

"Aaron and Gracie went to Oceanside," the boy explained as he sliced. "They took two dozen fishing flies, a jar of venison -- Aunt Carol, you said --"

"That I did," she acknowledged encouragingly. "Carry on..."

"A jar of venison, a jar of pork, a jar of jam, and six cookies," the boy finished, scraping the potatoes off the counter and into a bowl. "Aaron volunteered to take the stuff and talk with the lady who makes the fishing poles."

"I'm sorry we didn't wait till you got back," Lydia apologized, "but Aaron had to leave first thing this morning."

"No, that's good," Carol said. "Aaron's saved us a trip to Oceanside. We were supposed to be back yesterday but --" she shot Daryl a glance "-- we lost track of the time. You're smart enough to do your own bartering, all three of you are. It's a generous offer, and it's fair, too. She might send Aaron back with the best pole she has. Avery doesn't like to feel as if she took advantage of someone. She's a giver."

"Did you know her from being on the boat?" Lydia asked. Carol nodded.

"Who all's comin' to dinner?" Daryl asked.

The fam all exchanged glances. "Rosita, and Gabriel and Coco," Judith volunteered. "Aaron and Gracie would be invited too, but they aren't here. Lydia thought the turkey was big enough to feed a lot of people."

"Well, if Aaron and Gracie come home in the next day or two, they still might get lucky," Carol said. "Just how big is this bird?" 

Lydia beckoned her to the oven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding electricity (kitchen stove) and lanterns: I don't presume to understand how it works on TWD, but I have seen lanterns on the show, and Carol has baked cookies in an oven, in Alexandria. Really didn't suss it out any further than that. If it's canon, it's canon.
> 
> I hope you find something here to enjoy.


	7. Distant Early Warnings

The next time Daryl and Carol made it out to the honeymoon suite, it was almost December. 

It was colder outside than down in the pit, a fact that did little to make the pit feel any less chilly. They had packed a compact wood-burning stove the size of a small coffee can and a bag of dry maple chunks, pieces small enough to fit in the stove and big enough to create a decent coal bed. They were simultaneously eager and a little paranoid to use the wood stove in the bunker. It fit into a niche, but they worried about the smoke situation because try as they may, they hadn't determined where the vent holes exited the ground up above. That was another purpose to bringing the stove, to help them find where the niches vented out.

The skies opened up fifteen minutes after they left the safety of the walls around Alexandria, and even though they had ridden the bike, both were soaked to the skin and bordering on hypothermia by the time they got into the hatch and down the ladder. They stripped in the main chamber with their teeth chattering, dried off and changed into their soft fleece loungewear. Daryl dipped and filtered enough water from the well to fill a gallon jug and Carol started some of it boiling in a pot on the propane stove. After wrapping in blankets and eating a hot meal with hot beverages, they finally stopped shivering.

"That was no fun," Daryl groused, sipping at his tea. "Shit, Carol, how'd I miss seein' that comin? S'posed to be some kind'a outdoorsman." He scoffed at himself. 

"Maybe your mind was focused on something else," she suggested, trying to hide her smile.

"Hmph. Ya think?" he teased, nudging her gently. 

"You're not alone," Carol said supportively. "I had a similar moment the morning after our first time. Left my knife on the kitchen counter all night. Supposed to be some kind of badass, right?" She fluffed her wet hair with her towel. "Don't beat yourself up over it. We're not used to taking bike rides in the winter. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "soon I'm going to pounce you so thoroughly you'll forget it ever happened."

"Promises, promises," Daryl said. He was eyeing the wood stove. "You think we'd get away with sticking' that stove in a niche and lighting it? I'm debatin.'" 

They had brought in a couple small end tables and two kitchen chairs from inside the farmhouse and now had all the candle holders on the tables on either side of the futon. Carol had suggested leaving a good margin of space between the tables and the mattress to avoid knocking over a lit candle in the event they got to thrashing around during their trysts. The second futon in the bunker was still folded up against the wall, the mattress rolled and wrapped in plastic beside it. They'd decided not to use it yet as it might come in handy after they wore out the first one, plus it took up a lot of extra space.

"We could try to do that," Carol said. "I mean, what do we need to watch out for? Not setting everything on fire, obviously, but what happens when you run out of oxygen? You get sleepy, right? So we probably wouldn't want to keep it going all night, even if things seem okay. That's assuming it makes enough of a difference to use it at all."

"You wanna risk it?" Daryl asked. "Gonna send smoke up out there somewhere, too."

"That figures. If it wasn't raining so hard, we could go pinpoint those vents right now." Carol fidgeted in her blanket. "Let's build a fire, Pookie. We came all the way out here for what we came all the way out here for, and If we can do what we came all the way out here for without freezing to death while we're at it...?"

"Good point," Daryl agreed. They broke out the little stove and got it ready to light and set into the niche. Carol drew one of the little buckets full of water from the aquifer in case they needed to extinguish the flames quickly. They had put on dry clothes, but their hair, although towel-dried, was still wet and once out of the blankets, they were soon shivering so hard it carried over into their voices when they spoke. 

"Here goes nothin,'" Daryl warned, lighting the tinder in the tiny stove. To their happy surprise, the chimney effect of the ventilation hole kicked in almost immediately, and the smoke was drawn out and away from the bunker. The chunks of hardwood they had brought were dry, and soon there was very little smoke and increasing glowing coals. The barrel shaped stove radiated heat. They both stood next to the niche and warmed their hands and fluffed their hair to dry it. Every so often Daryl would load a couple chunks of the wood. They noticed an immediate difference in the temperature of the air closest to the stove, and periodically verified the ventilation hole was still having a chimney effect.

"So far, so good," Carol offered optimistically.

"Yeah, seems to be doin' the job. I can tell the difference. Here, use my towel on your hair."

Carol accepted the offering and scrubbed as much of the residual damp out of her hair as she could. She had a brush in her pack and fished it out to tame the wild woman look she was cultivating.

"Leave it," Daryl said jokingly when she started to pull the brush through her locks, "I kinda like it that way."

She huffed, and smacked him playfully with the brush. "You hush, Tarzan. Got quite the wild and crazy head of hair, yourself."

Daryl shrugged. "Can cut it, if you want."

Carol stopped brushing her hair out and stared at him. "Are you serious?" She drew back and gave him that look she did when she thought he was pulling her leg. "Really? How short?"

He shrugged again. "Short as you like it, I guess."

Carol stepped closer and reached up to card her fingers through his damp hair. "I don't know, Pookie. I know I tease you about your hair, but I do love it, any way you want to wear it." She tucked a lock affectionately behind his ear. "Tell you what? If you feel the same way next time we're here, I can take a little off, see how that goes. We can always take more later."

"I think you're missin' my point," Daryl said. "I'm askin' what you want."

"And I want what you want," Carol said.

"Pfft. I see this is goin' nowhere fast," he remarked. "Next time, then." It didn't really matter to him one way or the other, what length his hair was. He had let it grow long simply from a lack of giving two shits. Although at times he'd appreciated having the fringe to hide behind, he didn't feel the need to conceal himself any more. It was one of those things where his perspective had changed and he hadn't really given much thought to it, till now.

They managed to warm up and dry off in front of the little stove, then set up their usual arrangement for a stay at the honeymoon suite. There were the candles on the end tables with their knives and water bottles and the .357 revolver, which they always kept close by, while the 9mm was loaded and stashed behind the kosher salt boxes on the shelf. The AR was wrapped in a towel under the futon, and the .22 was still on the shelf, plus they had the .38 Carol had brought with them. They chose a selection of freeze dried meals and a couple of the chocolate bars from the totes in the alcove, and gathered a couple paper plates and their sporks. A space on a shelf held their toothbrushes and toiletries, and a jug of filtered water. They each had a cup for drinking water and a mug for hot beverages. 

Carol had packed an assortment of teas and some bread, she set them out on the shelf with the food they intended to consume during their stay. She was humming beneath her breath as she arranged everything to her liking. Daryl had stopped unloading his pack, and when Carol turned around he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a gentle smile. 

"What?" she asked, smiling back.

"Nothin. I just like watchin' you when you're bein' domestic. Makin' a home outta our hole in the ground."

She let out a laugh. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Ain't it?"

"I suppose," she admitted. "I want us to be comfortable here. I want to make sure we brought everything we needed to." she tilted her head and eyed him with a sparkle of mischief. "And I don't want to waste time looking for something later when we could be rolling around on the futon, instead."

**********

Carol had a watch on the end table and she stretched out from beneath Daryl's arm to light a candle and check the time. It was six o'clock, but she wasn't certain whether that was a.m. or p.m. She set the watch back down, blew out the candle, and nestled back into the warmth of his body with a sigh of contentment. In the beginning, the sound of their breathing in the silence had triggered a claustrophobia attack. It comforted her now. Listening to their respirations in the pitch dark and feeling both their heartbeats and their mutual body heat was almost like sharing a womb, a closeness so deeply intimate that it touched a chord in the most primordial part of her. 

Daryl stirred behind her. "You're thinkin' profound thoughts," he murmured into the crook of her neck. "I can feel 'em."

"I love you so much, Daryl," she whispered, glad he couldn't see her unbidden tears as they leaked out and slid down her face sideways.

"Mmm. Love you more," he teased, trailing gentle nips along the top of her shoulder. "Let me show you... " He slipped his hand around her hip, and down into the hollow between her thighs. Carol arched into him like a cat and alternately pulled and kicked off her sleep pants, separating her legs and lifting the one on top back and over his thigh. He concentrated on her until she was bucking beneath his hand, then pushed his own pants down to nudge his way in. He sank himself slowly to the hilt and they both gasped. 

"Careful, don't tear it off," he warned as she clenched around him. "It's all yours. Ain't for no one else, ever, so no need to be greedy."

Carol laughed. Daryl heard her tears in her voice. He rested his chin on her shoulder and tightened the arm that wasn't reaching between her legs around her waist. "S'wrong? You sad?"

"I'm not," she said in a wobbly voice, "Sometimes this happens to me now. I don't know why. I'm happy, so it's not a bad thing?" She laughed again, a little nervously. "Maybe it's part of the new and improved me. The since-we-got-together me. Maybe its just hormonal. Ignore it, please." She wriggled her hips against him, "I think you're neglecting something... "

"I am so, so sorry," he apologized, nudging deeper and resuming his careful attentions to her most sensitive spots. They moved together under the blankets in the dark, their breaths quickening. Carol couldn't stop her eyes from leaking. It was the strangest sensation, to be coming and crying at the same time. Had he not known her and her body so well by now, Daryl might have mistaken her passion for grief. He didn't. He gave her what her vocalizations and physical responses signaled she enjoyed. At last she wrenched him almost violently over the crest with her, then sank into the brief, numb oblivion that often follows an intense orgasm. 

Carol sniffled in his arms. "I don't know why I'm sniveling, It's annoying," she whimpered.

"You feel good?" Daryl asked.

"God, yes. Can't you tell? It's always so good. Every time." She sighed, and exhaled slowly. "Speaking of time, I checked the time. It's six o'clock. Probably closer to six-thirty, now."

"AM, or PM?"

"I honestly have no idea. One of us should peek out the hatch."

"Hint, hint," he chuckled, drawing reluctantly away from her. Carol struck a match and lit the candles. She wriggled back into her pants and retreated under the blankets again. Daryl pulled his pants up, then sat and slipped into his boots without lacing them. He stood and clomped out toward the alcove. When he returned he seemed a little sad. "All good things come to an end," he said, in resignation. "Took a while to tell if it was gettin' lighter, or darker out. It's mornin.' Must'a slept through the whole night."

Carol sighed. "It was great while it lasted, but it never lasts long enough."

"There's always next time," Daryl reminded her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "There's always next time."

**********

They visited the honeymoon suite on average every three weeks through the winter. On one of their visits, Carol cut a couple inches off Daryl's hair, and no more. Carol taught Lydia and Judith how to bake breads and pastries. R.J. was delighted with the fishing rod -- and a reel -- sent back with Aaron by Avery of Oceanside. He practiced his casts in the street in front of the house. Sometimes Carol would peer through the window and see him out there, his small arms moving through the air in grand, sweeping gestures. He looked like a miniature conductor with an oversized baton.

Lydia made a visible effort to divide her time equally between the fam and the company of Negan. Negan's halfhearted attempt to discourage and rebuff the girl was long forgotten and they had fallen into a quasi father-daughter dynamic both of them needed and cherished. They didn't talk about it. It just was. They hunted together or worked on something related to hunting, such and making traps and snares and working on their marksmanship. No one in the fam bothered to ask Lydia where she was going when she left now -- she had still made no other friends, and Negan and the fam were it for her. 

"I don't need anybody else," she'd told Carol in confidence. "Most other people are idiots or assholes. Daryl and Negan can always find something useful to do, I'm always learning from them and I'd rather stay busy." She was rapidly becoming one of the most proficient hunters in the settlement and it was no wonder. If she wasn't hunting with Daryl, she was hunting with Negan, while led to Lydia hunting more often than either one of the two men.

Judith had fallen into a wistful melancholy and Carol worried about her. She sensed the child was keeping some secret. Carol and Daryl didn't pry, hoping Judith would come forth with whatever it was in her own time. It was cold out, the days were too short, and they were all going a little stir crazy.

The horde drifted in around the walls and overstayed their welcome by far longer than they ever had. It felt as if they'd never leave, that everyone would be trapped inside behind their locked gates in their silence until they started to starve and die. Everybody was careful and on edge. The growling of the horde was a low, vibrating and ceaseless rumble. The fam got so accompanied to signing every conversation that they continued to exclusively do so for a full day after the horde departed. 

Carol and Daryl actually grew weary of twoshots and for the first time, they didn't have any kind of sex at all for over a week. Two days after the horde drifted off a safe distance, they ventured out to the honeymoon suite and ravished each other in a mutually violent encounter they immensely enjoyed and were disturbed by the savagery of. They didn't stay the night, but managed to fit in a second session, equally unrestrained and only slightly less feral. Then they packed up most of the pinto beans and returned home. There weren't a lot of provisions left in the bunker to take back to Alexandria, but they'd managed to keep the supplies trickling in. So far, no one had exhibited any suspicions about what they found or when.

The morning after their trip to the bunker, Carol had been in the kitchen cooking breakfast in her robe. The belt was a little loose, and one of the shoulders had slipped down. Carol caught Judith looking at her with an expression that was a mixture of horror and concern.

"Aunt Carol, did you get bit by a walker?" she squeaked. Everybody else froze and turned toward her. 

Carol reached up and quickly pulled the chenille collar of her robe back and over the obvious teeth marks on her shoulder. "No, Judith, I wasn't bitten by a walker." She glanced quickly toward the table to Daryl to gauge his reaction. He had frozen in place with a spoonful of oatmeal poised in the air halfway to his mouth.

Judith started to ask something else, and Lydia gently cut her off. "Not now, okay?" She caught Carol's grateful look, and nodded. R.J. seemed to have questions as well, but Daryl shot him a stern glance that quickly discouraged further curiosity. The child returned to his characteristic and minute examination of the various foodstuffs arranged on his plate. 

**********

As a show of good faith and reward for killing the Alpha, the Council decided to give Negan a place of his own to live. He was still dwelling in the cell, and since Alexandria only had the one, it wasn't practical for him to remain in it indefinitely. The cell was needed for other things -- as a drunk tank, mostly -- and unpopular as he was, Negan had proven himself to be a loyal and contributing member of the community. They granted him an apartment of sorts, in the far end of the brownstone on the same block as the fam. This had a twofold purpose. Daryl, the most suspect of Negan, could better keep an eye on him when he lived a couple doors down, and it kept Lydia closer. Everyone seemed to breathe a collective sign of relief when Negan was out of the cell. The final public reminder of his crimes was gone. 

"How do you feel about it?" Carol asked Daryl, once the Council had agreed and told Negan of his impending move. 

"I ain't happy," he admitted. "Ain't exactly unhappy, either. Wish he hadn't done what he did. Sometimes I wanna like him, and that makes me mad as hell. Seein' him all the time... seein' him with Lydia all the time." He chewed on his lip. "Hurts. But I get it. Won't take him from her. She needs him. I hate his ass, but he needs her, too. An' he's... tryin'... to be somethin' different than he was before. One day, you just change, right?" He turned to her, searching and yearning in his eyes. "We're all changin'... all the time."

"That's beautiful, Pookie," she sighed, her eyes shining. "You know, I was thinking of Glenn lately... and Herschel, and Dale... and Rick." Both of them briefly bowed their heads in a respectful moment of silence and swalllowed hard. "They would all be so proud of you, don't you think? The man that you've become."

"Pfft, just grew up a little, is all," he said, squirming. "Ain't nothin' special or noble."

"You're only a man of honor," Carol said flippantly. "I guess that will have to do."

Daryl scoffed again, but he smiled and ducked his chin to conceal the smile. Carol learned quickly toward him to plant a kiss on his forehead, then she leaned her forehead against his, brushing his nose with hers. "Love you, Daryl Dixon," she said. 

"Love you more, Carol Dixon."

"I like that," she said, nuzzling him and brushing his hair behind his ears. "Can I keep it?"

"Said it before, anything of mine you want, or need? All yours."

"Mmmm. OK. It's mine now."

"Just like that?" He asked.

"Just like that. Unless, you want to do it in a different way... ?" 

"Nah. It's good. Daryl and Carol Dixon. Sound like a couple badass gunslingers, ridin' into town to rob a bank and shoot the place up." He chuffed a snort of laughter through his nose. 

"Or maybe the badass heroes riding in to save the day," she corrected.

"Whatever," Daryl said. "Thought we both said our hero days were over."

"We did. We're actively retired now. At least until the next villain comes along..."

"Sshhh," he scolded softly. "Was thinkin' happy thoughts. Wanna hold onto 'em a while yet."

"Right. Sorry." Carol thought how ironic it was that Daryl was the one clinging to happy thoughts. He was right, they were both always changing.

**********

Life in Alexandria went on uneventfully into spring. Daryl and Carol didn't visit the honeymoon suite quite as frequently now, and Daryl went on more hunts with Lydia. She was teaching him to use the sling, which she'd become proficient with. There were more birds served on the Dixon-Grimes table that ever before. Lydia approached her lessons with a solemnity and seriousness Daryl found both sad and endearing. In some ways, Lydia was more adult than any of the adults Daryl knew, including himself, and in other ways, she was such a child. It could be dizzying to attempt predicting which side of her would manifest on any given day. She was a chameleon, full of emotions as varied and broad as the color spectrum. She could shift from rain, to sun, to thunder in a heartbeat. The whole fam had nightmares, but hers were more frequent than anyone's. 

Still, the girl smiled more often these days, and while not exactly making friends, she had garnered the respect of the needier in Alexandria with the sizable contribution she made to the community meat coffers. The day when Lydia didn't bring in game for the table was a rarity. Some of the other hunters had begun placing bets amongst themselves over how many consecutive days she could pull off a successful hunting streak.

Carol and Daryl had announced without ceremony that Carol was taking Daryl's name. The first person they'd told was Lydia, to offer their name to her, as well. She was happy to become a Dixon. Considering his family's history and reputation before the Turn, Daryl wasn't sure how to feel about their eagerness to share his label, but he alternately swelled with pride to think there were three Dixon's in Alexandria now, a family. 

Disconcertingly, Lydia also had a room of her own at Negan's. Carol and Daryl hated it, but she was nearly of age, and she rarely stayed the night unless Judith and R.J. were having a sleepover somewhere. At those times, Lydia made herself scarce so Daryl and Carol could have some alone time. It was a double-edged sword: They got an entire night to themselves, but it was because Lydia was sleeping at Negan's place. 

Still, it worked out well enough for everyone, and the couple had less of an urge to run off to the honeymoon suite, although they always had to squelch it to some degree when at home. In many ways, they'd disadvantaged themselves by having a place where they could scream when they fucked. Now that they knew and regularly indulged in the sensation and freedom of being completely unleashed, they were loathe to give it up. It was their mutual addiction.

**********

"You ready?" Daryl asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Carol hummed and bungeed the last bundle of supplies onto the back of his bike. "We're just about there, Pookie. Did Judith get a hold of Dog?" 

"Dunno. Maybe. I don't see 'im around, do you?" 

Carol straightened up and fixed him with a look that said, really? "Since when does that mean anything? We didn't spot him following us the last time until we were nearly four miles out."

Daryl chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "A'right," he finally said. "We should prob'ly tell the fam we're leavin', anyhow."

"They know we're venturing out this morning. It's just a day run," Carol said. "Let's find Dog, and go from there."

By the time they were on their way out the gate, an hour of daylight was gone. They rode straight to the honeymoon suite, stopping to pick up the canvas tote and hand shovel for the blue bags from the tree they always left them hanging in. The horde was two miles out of Alexandria, but they'd been moving north and the honeymoon suite was to the south. There were two large herds en route to their destination, but they knew about them in advance from the surveillance reports, and spotted and made a wide berth around the first one. They never caught a glimpse of the second herd at all, avoiding it solely through the use of a compass and the map coordinates for the herd's last location. Carol speculated the herd may have turned and gone a different direction after hearing the bike. Daryl was bothered when the second herd wasn't where they expected it to be. He liked to have a solid fix on large groups of walkers and other relevant hazards at all times. 

They left the bike concealed in a thicket of brambles close to the farm house, but far enough away to not lead anyone or anything following them directly to their destination. They walked a perimeter around the property as they had every time since discovering it, even on the winter day when it had rained so hard. Everything was beginning to green up in the early spring, and wisps of steam rose from the dew-sparkled grass when the sun broke through the clouds. The air smelled of earth and growth and nature's rebirth. Birds were singing in the trees and in the overgrown fields, laying claim to their territories.

A persistent drip was running down through the hatch, and they made plans to bring the appropriate tools on the next visit to fix it. They also needed to deal with the trapdoor. Every time they opened it, a more visible imprint was left behind, and the dirt on top of it was sinking and crumbling apart. They'd pulled a couple rusty corrugated roof panels over the door as camouflage. Walkers did the rest by repeatedly treading over and over the tops of the panels as they milled around and passed through the area, so the panels now appeared to have been lying there for years. It was inevitable the deteriorating soil on the top of the door, and the repeated opening and closing of the door itself would make it leak. The honeymoon suite had always been surprisingly dry inside, and they didn't want any moisture building up near the alcove. To be cautious, they moved all the totes in the alcove to the interior until they could fix the leak. They mopped up the water as well as they could.

By the time they finished bringing in their belongings and completing the unscheduled chores, they were both hungry and a little bit tired. Carol had loaded and brought the .38 revolver and she unholstered and laid it on a side table. They'd carried a gallon jug of drinking water from home, and Carol prepared them a lunch. It was odd having every bit of the food and provisions right there at her fingertips in the main chamber. They sat on the futon and ate, sharing their food as they often did. Carol grinned when Daryl reached over and speared a bite from her foil pouch.

"What?" he said around the mouthful.

"I was just thinking of how that annoys the girls," she said. "When we do that at the table."

Daryl swallowed. "Do what?"

"When we share from our plates at a meal."

"Pfft. Kids nowadays are too civilized," he said, and for no reason at all, this struck them both as particularly funny, and they laughed out loud together. Carol reciprocated and speared a bite of his food from Daryl's lunch pouch.

**********

Negan didn't come to the door often. R.J. studied him curiously as he stood on the porch, carrying his bow and quiver and standing up straight in his leather jacket with his hands in his pockets. He seemed uncharacteristically edgy. 

"Lydia around today?" he asked.

"No," R.J. replied. "We thought she was hunting with you." He turned around and yelled into the house, "Judith!"

His sister materialized soon after, looking slightly annoyed. "R.J., what? Oh. Hi, Negan." She gave him a sunny wave, then she stopped, and frowned. "Isn't Lydia with you?"

"Nope. I was hoping she was here." He glanced at R.J. "Your brother said you thought she was hunting with me?" Judith nodded. "I haven't seen Lydia since yesterday," Negan said. "She was here this morning?" Judith nodded again.

Negan was scratching his beard and thinking. "Why'd you think she was with me?"

"She said she was going hunting. She always hunts with either you or Daryl, now." Since there were so many herds in the vicinity besides the horde, most people had temporarily abandoned solo hunts, even Daryl. It took at least two pairs of eyes to watch out. If Lydia went hunting alone, it was against their safety protocol and completely unexpected. "R.J.," Judith said, turning to her brother, "why don't you go find us something for our lunch? Don't use the knife. I'll be in to help soon." R.J. turned and went back inside.

"Lydia seem okay this morning?" Negan asked.

Judith shrugged. "She was sad, I think. She gets that way sometimes, though. She had a rough childhood." 

Negan grinned wide. He'd always had a soft spot for the feisty little girl. "That's quite the understatement. Did she take her bow, or her sling, or both?"

"I didn't notice. She left after Carol and Daryl rode out this morning. We really thought she was with you."

"They leave you alone like this, much?" Negan asked. "Unsupervised."

"We don't need supervision any more," Judith said quickly.

"That's not what I heard. A little bird told me that once upon a time, you were the one requesting adult supervision," Negan challenged her.

"That was months ago," Judith said. "I was just a kid, then. I'm closer to adulthood now."

"Well I won't argue that," Negan agreed. "You're still a kid, though. Shouldn't be here without a grownup."

"As if you really care," Judith said. "You know I'm perfectly capable of defending myself."

"That I do," Negan agreed, " but what about your little brother?"

"R.J.'s a pacifist," Judith explained. "I'm perfectly capable of defending him, too."

Negan turned away, pretending to look down the street as an excuse to avert his eyes and hide his amusement. "You're a sassy gal," he said. "I wouldn't want to tangle with you." He rubbed his chin, and turned back to her. "If Lydia shows up, tell her I went out to where we got all the pheasants, and maybe the turkey blind."

"Lots of pheasants and the turkey blind," Judith repeated. "Okay. Do you have a Whisperer mask?" she asked.

Negan hesitated, caught off guard. "Why do you think I'd have a Whisperer mask?" he asked.

"Lydia has at least two of them," Judith offered up. "She doesn't know that I know. I think she takes one when she goes outside the walls alone. She might be wearing a mask, is all. So you might not recognize her even if you do see her," the child explained, "and the horde is closer than usual, so if you have a mask, you might want to wear yours too."

"Duly noted," Negan said, nodding. 

"Be safe," Judith said. She remained on the stoop and watched him as he trotted down the steps and turned right, headed for the watchtower gate. 

**********

Aaron intercepted Negan as he was walking through the gate. "Hey," he said, flagging Negan down, "I'd advise against going out there right now. The horde's headed our way. It changed directions this morning and picked up speed ever since. Just got off the radio with surveillance. If the horde doesn't turn soon and move in the other direction, we're going to close the doors."

Negan looked torn. "Lydia's out there," he said finally. "Daryl and the Queen Badass are both out there too, but they can take care of themselves. Lydia's just a kid."

"Are you familiar with her background?" Aaron asked impatiently. "Lydia is anything but a kid, Negan."

"You know what I meant." Negan squinted up at the bright sky. "Is there an extra walkie?"

"Nope."

"None at all?"

"I just told you there wasn't one."

Negan eyed Aaron and scratched his chin. He wasn't sure whether to believe him.

"I've got to say, it's just creepy the way she sticks to you," Aaron said, sounding disgusted. "Can't you make friends with people your own age? Do you have any idea how everyone looks at her and talks about her because she hangs out with you?"

"You might want to run that judgement by Lydia," Negan said. "Being as she's old enough to make her own decisions about things like who her friends are and which people she spends time with." Aaron was silent as Negan continued. "Don't exactly see half of Alexandria beating down her door to offer their friendship, let alone in exchange for the forfeiture of mine. She knows I've got her back -- unlike the rest of you sorry sons of bitches. Now, if you don't mind...?" 

Aaron stepped aside and gestured for Negan to pass. Aaron looked up the street to the left and caught sight of Judith, still perched on the stoop of the brownstone, watching their exchange. He raised his metal arm and waved at her. Judith waved back, then turned and went into the house and closed the door. When Aaron swiveled around to him again, Negan was gone.

**********

Carol and Daryl's day wasn't going according to plan.

They'd finished their lunches, then wrapped up in most of the blankets and laid down together on the futon, just to snuggle and relax for a minute. Daryl slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Carol melted against him and made a purring sound as he nuzzled the side of her neck and spooned up against her. She wrapped her arm around his arm and arched her body into his comforting warmth. 

Carol woke abruptly in the pitch black. The candles had burned down to nubs and guttered out. Waking in the dark in the honeymoon suite was nothing new, but this time she came to in a surge of sudden panic and nearly shoved Daryl off the futon as she lunged to her feet and stumbled into the wall.

"Carol!" Daryl called out into the void. "You okay?"

"Maybe not..." she whimpered in a thin, wavering voice.

"Wait, I'ma get a light... Just wait, wait. Listen to my voice. I'm right here." She heard him fumbling in his vest, the metallic chink of the lid of his Zippo flipping open, then the weak illumination of the flame. Carol could see enough to remember they were in the honeymoon suite. Then it all came back to her, the rain, the cold, a hot lunch, and lying down. One minute they'd been snuggling, and the next she was out like a light.

"You okay? You good?" Daryl asked, returning swiftly from the shelves with three fresh lit candles.

"Yeah," she breathed, dropping down onto the futon, "just had a moment." She pried the remnants of the used candles out of the holders and they replaced them with the new ones. Carol could feel her pulse gradually slowing back to normal. "That was no kind of way to wake up from a nap," she mourned. "I'm so sorry, I almost knocked you clear out out of bed."

"It's fine." He sat next to her on the futon and massaged her shoulders. "You were just a little discombobulated," he said. Carol let out a weak laugh.

"Discombobulated," she echoed. "I'll take that." She brushed a shaking hand across her eyes. "Dammit Daryl, how could we fall asleep like that?"

He studied her curiously. "Ain't you never had a Thanksgivin' where people pass out in front of the TV after supper?" 

"I did, as a matter of fact," she said, smiling weakly. "That's quite a memory to produce here and now. Snapshot from another planet entirely." She wiped at her eyes. "I dread to think what time it is. Where's the watch?"

Daryl pulled it from his pocket. "Says it's six." 

"Six p.m.? In March? Dammit," she growled.

"What? We gotta go now?" He grinned. "No time for hanky panky?"

"How can you think this is funny?" Carol snapped. "We wasted the fuel and the day and risked our lives riding out here for nothing. Our world is full of walkers, we left the kids all alone in Alexandria and -- "

"Kids're fine. They're inside the walls and they ain't stupid. Aaron, Rosita and Gabriel know we're out and they're keepin' an eye without bein' obvious. Lydia's with 'em, too, she's a capable fighter and Judith's already a damn warrior. And we only came out for the day, Carol. What is it, really? Tell me what's buggin' you."

"I don't know," she said, truly mystified. "I just have this... feeling. I don't like it." She whipped around and stared in the direction of the hatch. "Maybe the horde is close. Maybe I can sense it. I can't believe we fell asleep like that." She turned back to him, and her eyes were a little crazed. "It's dangerous."

"It happens!" Daryl exclaimed in frustration. "We're gettin' old! We're in a safe place and we fell asleep! Old people fall asleep in their safe places, Carol! Jesus fuckin' Christ."

"Leave him out of it and speak for yourself," she sniffed.

Daryl sighed and bent over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. "I'm sorry today ain't workin' out for us," he said regretfully. "More'n you know. Maybe it's a sign. I mean, I ain't exactly superstitious, but seems to me the planets sure the fuck ain't aligned in our favor today." He swiveled his head to gauge her reaction. "Let's pack up and go home. A'right?"

"Yeah," she agreed, feeling defeated. 

Daryl reached over to take her hand. "M'sorry I was an asshole. Didn't mean to yell at ya."

"I'm sorry you were an asshole, too," she said. "You're forgiven. Let's get out of here."

************

The took no provisions with them, it was getting late and the fam expected them back before dark. They tried the radio to check on the horde's location, and discovered the battery was dead. They quickly packed up what little they'd brought and mounted the bike. The evening chill was rolling in swiftly, and they were still close enough to the tail end of winter for the nights to cool into the high thirties. Everything was still wet from last night's rain and the road was slick with a layer of rotting leaves. They got on the bike and roared toward Alexandria. 

Carol loved riding pillion with Daryl. She'd hold onto him and tilt her head back, eyes shut in absolute bliss, savoring the sensation of speed and the closeness of the person she loved most. The road was exhilarating, and sometimes she wished they could ride on for days, exploring the outlying spaces and places that still existed in the world. Fuel for the bike was scarce though, and there wasn't even enough of it to travel to the honeymoon suite as often as they wanted, let alone to explore the open road. It was one of the sad truths of their new world.

Without warning, the chain on the bike suddenly snapped and flew back to jam on the rear sprocket, locking the wheel and freezing it in place.

The effect was instantaneous. The motorcycle whipped into a sideways skid with a loud screech and then a sound like a gunshot as the tire blew out. Carol could feel every muscle in his torso turn to stone as Daryl fought to maintain control of the machine. The metal of the wheel rim showered sparks in its wake as it ground against the rough asphalt. They came to a sudden stop, miraculously still upright, facing back the way they'd come. They were breathing hard and trembling with adrenalin, both feeling lucky to be uninjured and still alive. The scorching smell of burned rubber singed the air.

"Thanks for the thrills," Carol managed to say, "There are safer ways to impress me, you know."

Daryl put down the kickstand and waited for Carol to dismount before he got off the bike. The rear tire was in shreds and the wheel rim was ruined. Neither admitted to it, but both of them were still shaking.

"Fuck shit, goddamn it," Daryl said, trying to mask the concern in his voice. "This really ain't our day, is it?" He ran a hand worriedly through his hair and looked down the road the way they'd come before reaching a decision. "Bike's done for now. We gotta hide it quick and hoof it the rest of the way." He pushed on the handlebars and realized the rear wheel was still locked. An hour of daylight remained, but they were still halfway out. The bike was immobile, and too heavy for them to lift and carry it without injuring themselves. Daryl's back hadn't been the same since he fell out of that tree. He stood there a minute, holding on to the handlebars and gnawing on his lower lip. He peered up at her through his fringe in the fading daylight.

"This ain't good, Carol."

A jolt of concern lit her nerves. "What do we do now?" she asked.

"I dunno if there's anything we can do. Chain caught in the sprocket. Locked it up tight. Gotta work the chain loose, ain't gonna be no quick job. Might need to leave it right here in the road." He chewed his lip and shook his head. "We can't lift it with just the two of us. Takes three, maybe four men."

"We can't just leave it sitting out here in the open, though. If a strange group comes along... " She trailed off. There weren't many motorcycles left more than a decade after the Turn, and the vast majority of them were terminally inoperable. If they left the bike here and now, they might as well offer it up to the first passerby with a means of loading and hauling it away.

"Can't we drag it?" Carol asked. "Just yank it to the side of the road? But your back... "

They each grabbed hold of a handle bar and tugged. Carol could feel the weight and the strain bearing almost entirely on her lower spine. The rear end of the bike raised up by a fraction, but otherwise didn't budge. 

"Stop!" she cried, louder than she'd intended to. "It won't work. Daryl, we can't." 

They removed their possessions from the bike, reluctantly laid it on its side in the road, and hurried to gather enough brush, leaves and branches to cover and conceal it as much as possible in a desperate attempt to make it resemble an extension of the adjacent bramble patch. It was a pitiful effort, and they both felt a creeping sense of dread as they raced back and forth in the fading light. 

The temperature was dropping fast and they weren't prepared to spend the night out on the road. To make matters worse, a cluster of walkers blundered out of the woods where the couple was scavenging for brush, and they had to stop and lure them out into the road so they had an open space in which to deal with them.

As soon as they finished with the walkers from the forest, another, larger herd homed in on them from an overgrown field on the opposite side of the road. 

"This is gettin' worse fast," Daryl said, drawing his knives again. "Let's take 'em out and get the fuck outta here."

"What about the bike?" Carol cried, stabbing the two walkers closest to her and backing up to draw her bow.

"We're more important than the fuckin' bike!" he yelled back. "We need to leave, now!"

Carol took down two, three walkers with her arrows. She'd started with around twenty and knew there wouldn't be any retrieving these. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a third herd even bigger than the first two, approaching from a different direction.

"Daryl!" she cried. "They're going to box us in!" 

They were back to back in the middle of the road, fighting walkers on both sides. Daryl had switched to the crossbow and now slung it on his back again and dispatched several walkers with his knives. Carol drew the .38 and took down six walkers from the second herd, emptying the gun and clearing them a path to escape through. The noise would surely bring even more. They bolted and ran.

They had gone less than a hundred yards when both braked to another jarring halt, staring out at the sight that loomed in the distance, seeming to fill all the space that existed between them and the safety of Alexandria's walls.

It was the horde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I called back variations on several lines from TWD in this chapter. 
> 
> One thing I'd forgotten about writing fiction is this; the more details you include, the harder it is to keep track of them all. Maintaining continuity can be a real bitch, and it's the element of writing that slows me down the most. 
> 
> Those with long memories might recognize the first scene From Chapter 1. It appears again in this chapter. The story was originally going to circle around to end at that point, but fuckit. It's got other ideas now and I am only the vessel it tells itself through.
> 
> I hope you find something here to enjoy.


	8. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the mention of rape is a trigger, you might want to pass on this chapter.

Negan wasn't keen on the idea of venturing outside the walls without a walkie. He liked the thought of Lydia locked out there alone even less and slipped off into the brush the moment Aaron turned away. He could melt into the landscape like a deer when it suited him, black leather jacket or no black leather jacket. He hiked a couple miles to a large field skirting the edge of an oak grove where he and Lydia got into a mess of pheasants from time to time. The girl gave him a run for his money with a sling, now. 

Negan thought of Lydia like a daughter, although he never openly implied it, verbally or otherwise. She was officially Daryl's ward, and Negan knew he'd rubbed that man the wrong way where she was concerned too damn many times already. It was the tenuousness of Daryl's hold on her that compelled him to let the girl even spend time with Negan in the first place. Negan was impressed with the assertive calm, logic and selflessness Daryl had exhibited as Lydia's guardian. 

Negan was more than a little fascinated by the enigma that was Daryl Dixon. He'd wanted him as a soldier very badly back in the day and soon learned he couldn't be broken. Negan hadn't expected much resistance from the half feral man with the bleeding gunshot wound who had lunged up from the circle to punch him in the face. He'd assumed Daryl was just another animal that could be tamed with clean clothes, food, an apartment, and the lure of female company. Unfortunately for Daryl, his behavior the duration of his brief stay in the Sanctuary had never improved to the point he received any of its available creature comforts. His calm resolve and steadfast refusal to break and swear fealty had taken the Savior's leader by surprise. Daryl was an emotional animal, but he also had a code of honor and didn't waiver from it.

Not long after her return to Alexandria, Negan quickly assessed that Daryl's greatest weakness was the silver-haired Queen. Queen Carol, the certified badass who'd left her King behind at Hilltop and surprisingly returned to the ASZ with Daryl and Michonne after the Kingdom fell. All Negan knew of her at the time was that she was a living legend with a dozen stories in her wake, all tales of her taking on groups of their enemies singlehandedly and defeating them. Terminus. Wolves. Saviors. Daryl had her on a high goddamn pedestal, that was for sure. 

It amused Negan that the archer thought he could conceal his feelings for the former Queen. If she was in his line of vision, he was watching her. When she'd gone to sea for the first time, Daryl's grief was so palpable even the former Savior leader had felt sorry for him. The man was an open goddamn book. Negan assessed it was just as well Daryl was one of the good guys, since he was way too emotional to survive this world as a bad guy.

Negan reached the pheasant hunting field. To his disappointment, Lydia wasn't there and neither were there any pheasants. He debated turning around and heading back to Alexandria. Aaron had said they were on the verge of closing the gates, and he didn't care to be trapped outside the walls for days. He wondered if Lydia had returned on her own.

"Dammit, kid," he growled, kicking a clod of dirt at his feet. Negan huffed, and shifted his bow across his back. He was torn. What the hell had she come out here for alone anyway? None of them did that shit any more. It was too damn dangerous. The horde was huge and easily tracked, but there were a hundred smaller herds orbiting it and the settlements hadn't figured out how to keep tabs on them all. It was incredibly risky to venture beyond the gates without a walkie, and he felt a hot stab of resentment toward Aaron for refusing to give him one. Negan knew no one but Lydia gave a shit whether he lived or died, but still, he wasn't in any hurry to end his earthly journey. He had done everything and kept doing everything he could to prove his rehabilitation and his value and it was never enough. It was never going to be enough.

If Lydia came out here alone it was because she had heavy shit on her mind. Shit she should probably have sorted out on the right side of the walls, but Negan knew she often fled to the woods when she was angsty or upset. Her emotions were a kaleidoscope, one day she would have a certain reaction to an event or circumstance, and the next day her response was the opposite. She was alternately zen and frenetic. Negan and Daryl both knew the emotional neglect and abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her mother, and each man had his own way of attempting to heal it. 

Daryl was supportive and patient and he displayed a gentleness with Lydia that was reserved for a select few persons. Unknown to Negan, he also connected with Lydia as an abuse survivor, understanding the damage done to her psyche and self-esteem. He talked up her achievements and downplayed her failures. He played to her strengths, not her weaknesses. In essence, Daryl simply treated Lydia the way he wished someone had treated him at her age, with empathy, patience and affection.

Negan's method was much the same as Daryl's, except he had a bawdy sense of humor and poked fun at nearly everyone and everything. He often ribbed Lydia to the point of real annoyance. Sometimes she would storm off in a huff, sick of listening to him talk. 

"You're so in love with yourself and the sound of your own voice," she'd complain. "You never shut up."

"There'll be time enough for silence after I'm dead," he told her. "If you'd listen when I'm talking, you might learn a few things."

"Like how to alienate myself from an entire society? Sorry, already took that class."

"Graduated with honors," Negan said, raising his hand in an imaginary toast. "Me, too."

They'd laughed together, then scolded each other for scaring away all the game with their cackling. 

***********

The turkey blind was a ways east of the pheasant field. It took Negan much longer than usual to get there. The landscape between the two locations was peppered with mini herds, hardly worth the bother but too much to risk when alone. He slipped on his Whisperer mask -- how had Judith known about that, anyway? -- and he let his shoulders sag, added a shuffle to his step, and faded into the scattering of walkers.

Negan was of two minds about the Whisperer ways. The ability to move freely without fear of being consumed was the biggest highlight they offered. Life versus certain death. Alpha had taken the most existential threat that existed and made it their sword and their shield. Negan wasn't sure of the exact size of the horde, he suspected when it was spread out over an open area it extended a mile across. And that was without the countless other herds and mini herds it had shed off in the previous year. He had never walked in the thick of the horde and had no desire to, but if he had to, he could. It made time spent outside the walls far less stressful.

The sheer savagery of the Whisperers and the unpredictable ferocity of Alpha's code prevented the sell during Negan's time with them. He was a crass man, as Alpha said, but he was also consistent, and his consistency helped balance the fear and respect in the Sanctuary. The rules were clear, and simple for the Saviors to follow, therefore punishment for violations, though brutal, were both understood and justified. The severest penalties were dealt out not for words, but for deeds. 

In the Whisperer culture, you might die for merely saying the wrong thing at any given moment, and the wrong thing today might not be the same as the wrong thing tomorrow, or yesterday. The pecking order beneath Beta shifted constantly and left more than a few new Guardians in its path. The Whisperers were like a pack of wild dogs ready to turn on each other without provocation in an instant. 

Most Whisperer women and some of the men were raped, an occurrence so common that it would barely have registered on Negan's perception scale by the time he killed the Alpha had rape not been one of the crimes he was least likely to tolerate among the Saviors. 

The punishment for rape at the Sanctuary had been death. No exceptions. As a work around, Negan stylized his code to the point of justifying his subversively forced marriages by creating them in a context that made them appear voluntary. You couldn't rape the willing, and marrying Negan was a yes or no choice belonging to each individual woman. Those who said yes were giving consent, and consent wasn't rape. There were also things to be gained by being one of Negan's wives... luxuries, comforts, medical care, the best food and drink. Negan himself could be quite charming and was not without skills between the sheets.

The Whisperer dynamic was on a whole other planet. Any woman -- excepting the Alpha, of course -- might be grabbed and thrown to the ground and taken without warning. A virgin in their midst didn't remain a virgin for long. Negan wondered if it had happened for Lydia that way although he doubted it. Alpha had a terrifying power over her people, they feared and worshipped her like a deity. To attack the Alpha's cub was akin to attacking the Alpha herself.

Lydia had surely witnessed dozens, if not hundreds of rapes. The thought of the effect this had on her young psyche growing up filled Negan with pain. He'd long believed females of the species were superior and had an infinite capacity for everything, while the power of males was limited to their ability to dominate and oppress through the use of force and physical strength. It wasn't a good thing or a bad thing, it just was. The fact that Lydia grew to young womanhood watching her sisters repeatedly taken against their will -- and suprisingly often with their consent -- out in the open, in the presence of the entire Pack, had surely messed with her young mind in ways that could heal and scar over but never quite repair. It wasn't the kind of thing you built up an immunity to, especially someone as sensitive as Lydia. 

Negan had dealt with his own visceral reaction to the rapes by leaving the scene whenever one was underway. Sometimes Alpha followed him with her eyes and a knowing smile, saying nothing. She knew things about him from their encounter in the woods, and Negan thought again of what a brilliant tactician she had been and how much he'd admired her for it. She had used his crass reward as an opportunity to gather additional intel on him, intel no one else had and that Negan offered up involuntarily, although not exactly against his will. He felt a pang of regret, not the first time, remembering the expression in her eyes when he'd slashed her throat.

He dragged himself up and out of his thoughts. It was too easy to slip into his own headspace while shuffling along with the Guardians. He saw the stand of trees off to the right where he and Lydia had set up the turkey blind, and slowly edged his way out of the herd and away from their notice. The blind was empty when he got to it, and there was no sign of a recent visit. Negan walked to the tree line and surveyed the hills and fields in the distance back toward Alexandria. They looked funny, something about the view was off. And then Negan realized what he was seeing was the horde, spread out over the landscape.

**********

Lydia had tried her best to integrate into the community and after a year of effort, she was still an outcast and utterly miserable. She didn't understand the ways of the Alexandrians. They embraced things and activities both so trivial and superficial it boggled her mind. Which outfit to wear today. So-and-so made bread-and-butter pickles, maybe they're willing to trade. A game of croquet on the grass after lunch. And so on. It was like one big country club with the same Kool aid on tap for anybody willing to drink it.

Daryl's back injury and subsequent recovery resulted in Lydia's recognition as a qualified hunter and provider in the community. The settlement had stood to suffer in his convalescence, and Lydia not only lessened that burden, she improved on it, providing a steady flow of meat to the less laden tables among the population. During the previous winter, Lydia was the primary reason for the surplus hanging in the smokehouses and the abundance of barrels of salted pork.

People never forgot where she'd come from, though. The ghosts left behind by those who died during the war were constant reminders of the toll the Whisperers had taken. Lydia also had strange mannerisms learned as a Whisperer that were critical for survival in the horde, but of zero value in polite society. She had shifty eyes and a submissive yet ferocious demeanor that sparked suspicion in anyone who didn't already understand her. She didn't always recognize humor as humor. She would engage in raw and primitive practices, then reel under the shocked and horrified stares of witnesses. All she was doing was what she'd known and been taught most of her life, but here among the civilized, she was feral and a freak.

Hunting was her escape, and hunting with Daryl, Negan, and sometimes Carol was the extent of her companionship outside the walls. Lydia thought of the men as her two fathers, opposite points of the compass, as different as yin and yang. Daryl was quiet, introspective and thoughtful, while Negan was loud, comical and delighted in stating the obvious. One was at home in nature and away from crowds while the other was inherently a social animal and thrived best within a group... which was unfortunate, given that he was so completely ostracized.

Lydia was not oblivious to the pain of Negan's isolation. He too, was shunned by the majority and like Lydia, he had found a way to gain some value among the people by providing food through his attentive cultivation of the community garden. People could say what they wanted about Negan, but his ability to turn out perfect produce was unquestioned. Any extension of appreciation, however, was too big a stretch. Societies have long memories, and while plenty of Alexandrians were former Saviors themselves and nearly a decade had passed since the Sanctuary fell, the bloodshed and mayhem left in the wake of Negan's rule were still fresh in the minds of far too many. 

Lydia knew the trust of the people was something neither one of them were going to experience any time soon.

This morning, she'd awakened with a deep desire for nothing more than a space where she could think. The household was often chaotic this early, with everybody getting breakfast and headed off to whatever they had going on that day. For an hour there was a whirlwind of activity, then everyone except Carol had left. 

Carol was focused on domestic engineering, as she called it, intent on creating a perfectly Brady Bunch home atmosphere that almost gave Lydia the creeps. The girl didn't understand that for Carol, who previously felt she had no control over anything in her life, it was a way of achieving and maintaining stability. Carol had only ever wanted love and domestic bliss, and Lydia, unaware of her deepest drivers, simply assumed she'd begun drinking what Negan referred to as the "Stepford Kool Aid," although the conundrum of a Kool Aid guzzling domestic badass confused her.

Lydia loved Daryl more than any man except her father, and she knew he loved her, but he was always going to be focused on Carol first and foremost. Anyone could see that and it was nobody's fault. Lydia remembered how deeply she'd felt about Henry. Carol and Daryl had over a decade of close friendship between them even before they'd officially hooked up. It wasn't that Lydia was neglected. To the contrary, the girl felt more loved and cherished by the fam than she had since her father was alive. But it was only the fam, and Negan. Everyone else averted their gaze, stared her down in outright hostility, or pretended not to see her at all.

She spent most of her days now afield with Negan. Together they could bitch and complain about the ingratitude of the settlement while at the same time, acquiring necessary food and provisions for said ungrateful settlers. They laughed over the irony of the arrangement, and never spoke aloud of their mutual, wrenching need to belong. 

At the end of summer, they'd prepared parcels of meat and vegetables and distributed them in the less affluent living in Alexandria. People accepted their offerings while greeting them with silence. Lydia remembered the eerie unreality of going door to door and receiving no words in exchange for their gifts, only an occasional nod, if there was even any eye contact or acknowledgement.

It was in this sense of hopelessness that Lydia walked through the gates alone. She wanted to contemplate her choices in life without Negan's input or participation. The man could drive her crazy with his inappropriate humor and the way he sussed out and expounded uninvited on her deepest ponderances of life's truths. It was impossible to think anything over in his presence. He was like a gnat, annoying and buzzing persistently in her face, impossible to ignore. Sometimes she loved him and sometimes she wanted to beat him over the head with her stick.

She nodded to Aaron on her way out. He was always polite to her, nothing more, nothing less. She appreciated his honesty and basic humanity. He was one of the good guys. She adjusted both her stick and her bow across her back, and headed south. She knew there were several larger herds in that direction, and she wanted to walk with the Guardians. It was a place where she could think without threat of constant interruption, and she had a lot to think about.

Lydia walked for some distance and spotted several herds along her way before she selected one of maybe a hundred walkers. She pulled on her mask and adjusted it, then as she neared them, slumped into the typical walker shuffle and eased herself into their midst. Their dead, white eyes saw her without seeing her. Their constant growling and snarling comforted her, it was a familiar white noise, like wind in the trees, or waves breaking on a beach. Head down, she moved with them into an expanse of overgrown fields, where her herd eventually merged with another, and then another. She walked with them for hours, lost in her thoughts, and wondering with more than a little fear if this would be the only way she ever found herself from now on, by walking alone with the dead.

**********

Negan saw immediately that returning to the settlement tonight was impossible unless he wanted to stay masked and dare to slowly force his way through the thick of the horde. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said beneath his breath, watching the horde work its way west. It was late in the day and and he knew he needed to find shelter for the night. There wasn't much out here where he was except the occasional farm and swaths of what used to be grazing or agricultural land. Most of the houses had been overrun, ransacked and destroyed long ago. 

Negan removed his mask and stuffed it into a pocket, then ran a hand through his hair and studied the surrounding landscape, looking for a solid building to home in on. He peered into the afternoon haze in the setting sun, searching for the wink of glass or metal reflecting the light. There was nothing but endless fields and patches of hardwood forests, and the occasional herd. He sighed, and continued south, keeping an eye out for walkers now that he was unmasked and exposed.

The enormous herd on the other side of the oak grove he passed through caught him off guard. It was just over the crest of a small hill in an open field and he wasn't able to duck back the way he'd come before at least twenty of them raised their heads and homed in on him. The herd immediately shifted direction and headed his way.

"Shit!" Negan hissed, ducking into the tall grass and walking away as quickly as he could while in a low crouch. He heard their growling getting closer, and then a different set of snarls off to his left. Another goddamn herd. He should have kept the mask on but it was a little late to think of that now.

Negan stood up straight and saw he was surrounded by walkers on three sides. He bolted through the opening, running like a gangly gazelle, tall, thin and awkward on the uneven ground. He nearly ran into a fourth herd and swerved violently to the right, looking for a barrier of some kind he could hide behind to re-mask. Walkers kept cropping up at every turn. After a while it was pointless to think of using the mask because the heat he generated by running and the smell of his body odor, rich in fear and adrenalin, would betray his presence to them as much as if he had no mask at all. Negan ran and ran, his breath rasping in his throat and his chest on fire.

**********

Lydia traveled a good distance with her herd as they merged into several other groups and shed off new ones. It reminded her of the time her teacher in grade school showed her cells dividing under a microscope. The effect was hypnotic and soothing, like waves lapping on the shore. She was thinking of breaking away from them and turning back when she heard a heightened growling from the the rear of the group. They were definitely after something. Curious, she drifted closer to the growling and looked in that direction in time to see Negan, of all people, darting between two groups of walkers and hightailing it south. He was too far away for her to see his face, but with that gangly frame and the black leather jacket, it could only be him.

Lydia slipped away from the herd she was traveling with and navigated her way through the maze of walkers until she found an opportunity to break away and follow after Negan. It was hard to breathe in the mask for any real length of time at a run. She tore at the laces at the back of her head and ripped the mask off her face. She thought she could see his form, bobbing and weaving through the field, up ahead. 

"Negan!" she yelled.

She saw the shape hesitate, and turn toward her. 

"Negan!" she shouted again, "It's me, Lydia!"

When she reached him, Negan was bent over, hands braced above his knees and gasping for breath. He attempted to speak twice and his efforts were vetoed by his body's insistent demands for more oxygen. All that came from his mouth were a croak and his gasps as he struggled to catch his breath. He turned to their alternate form of communication.

Was looking for you, he signed. You know better than to hunt alone.

Can take care of myself, she signed back, scowling. Don't need a babysitter.

The horde blocks the way. Can't go home. Look for shelter now.

She blinked rapidly, drawing back from him in confusion. Why not walk through?

No. Too many. Long time to cross. Tired. Negan looked weary all of a sudden and Lydia felt a little sorry for him. He was a lot older than her and tonight he seemed seemed more haggard than usual. 

Lydia caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Guardians coming. We need to go.

They pocketed their masks and slowly made their way toward the nearest road, skirting several small herds and some individual walkers. As they approached the pavement they heard a sound in the distance that swelled and grew closer. It was the roar of an approaching motorcycle. They turned and looked at each other. It could only be Carol and Daryl, on their way home to Alexandria. 

They have radio? Negan signed.

Every time, Lydia replied. 

There was a loud, metallic screech, and the bike's engine suddenly stopped running, followed by a sound like a gunshot and a brief grating noise... then dead silence.

"Holy hell, kid," Negan said quietly, as shocked as she was, "I think your Dad Daryl and the Queen Badass just bit it."

They couldn't start running because there were walkers all around, so they put their masks back on and continued stumbling gradually south, staying on the road. There was a hill up ahead and the bike was on the other side of it. They saw nothing, and heard nothing except the occasional leaf rustling or walker snarling until there were distant shouts, followed by six gunshots in quick succession. Lydia picked up her pace and Negan hustled to stay with her. They were about halfway up the hill, when they saw two silhouettes appear at the crest. They were too far off to see their faces, but Negan spotted the outline of Daryl's crossbow.

It's them, he signed. Call out?

Lydia looked around wildly. Too many Guardians. Quiet keep safe. Follow, catch up to them.

They watched Carol and Daryl surveying the landscape, no doubt seeing the horde by now, then they turned and retreated the way they'd come. They didn't seem to notice Lydia and Negan, and even if they had, no doubt assumed they were walkers. 

Lydia and Negan crested the hill and came upon the bike soon after. There were a good many walker bodies scattered around it, several bristling with arrows and crossbow bolts. Negan leaned close and pulled some of the brush aside to see the rear tire of the bike was destroyed and the chain broken. They saw more walkers approaching and abandoned the scene, searching the road ahead for the couple. Once or twice, they thought they saw them outlined in the distance, walking back the way they'd come. They were traveling at good clip and Lydia and Negan finally pulled their masks off again and took after them at a jog, trying to catch up.

**********

Half an hour of daylight remained and Carol and Daryl were doing their best to get as close to the honeymoon suite as they could before full dark. Chances were good they'd make it, if they didn't run into a large herd or some other obstacle on the way. There seemed to be an unusual number of walkers wandering about tonight, and they'd already taken down over twenty apiece since the wreck. Their knives we're gunked with walker blood and they didn't holster them now, but carried them in their hands as they traveled. Several times walkers had lunged at them seemingly out of nowhere and after a close call where Daryl was nearly bitten, and everything else gone wrong with their day, they were on edge and at high alert.

"Someone followin' us," Daryl said quietly. "Seen 'em a coupla times. Two people. They were walkin' at first, but both are runnin' now."

Carol looked back over her shoulder and in the distance she saw one tall, thin figure alongside the road, then another, a little shorter, both jogging steadily in their direction. She turned to Daryl, her blue eyes wide. "Should we run?" she asked. 

He quickly considered their options. "Nah. Let's hide where we can see 'em."

They started looking around for a place to conceal themselves before their pursuers caught up. The ideal spot would permit a clear view of their stalkers and allow them to draw and aim their weapons. They were in a treed section of the road where the wreckage of a three car accident was still rusting on the shoulder. They took positions behind two of the largest trees across from the crash, assuming the people following would first look for them behind the cars... that is, if they'd figured out Daryl and Carol were on to them and had hidden.

They readied their bows, crouching next to the trunks, pressed against the rough bark in the lengthening shadows. They eyes met across the space between their trees.

"We're the ones who live," Daryl reminded her, just loud enough for Carol to hear.

"We're the ones who live," she echoed. 

Their eyes locked, full of everything they felt and couldn't or didn't have time to articulate. They'd awakened that morning looking forward to an ordinary day trip and now, in spite of their best efforts and after what was so far a no-good-horrible-very-bad-day, they prepared to face what might well be their last minutes of existence in this world.

They peered down the road from their positions, waiting, when they heard a low growling coming from behind them, deeper in the trees. More walkers.

Carol had nocked an arrow and drawn her bow, but now she relaxed the tension on the anchor point, put the arrow back in her quiver and slipped the bow around her shoulder, freeing both hands for signing and ready to reach for her knife.

Walkers coming. Run? Fight? she queried. 

Stay, Daryl signed back after following Carol's lead and shouldering his crossbow. The silent language didn't always coexist well with necessities like armed preparedness. 

We fight here, he signed. Can't lead them to it. They were not far from the honeymoon suite, but their pursuers were too close for them to bolt straight to it without running the additional risk of revealing its location. 

They could see the walkers stumbling through the trees now. There were half a dozen of them, closing in fast, with barely minutes before the two people on the road caught up to them. Daryl and Carol lunged up from their positions in unison and dispatched the approaching walkers with almost mechanical precision. Stab, two steps and stab, turn and stab, three each and back into concealment behind the trees in less than a minute. Both of them were breathing hard and they couldn't hear anything over their own pounding hearts. They clutched their knives, pressed against the trunks of their respective trees, and waited.

The first thing they noticed about the two following them was both carried bows. The second thing they noticed was they were conversing in the silent sign language as they ran. To the best of Daryl and Carol's knowledge, the language was not commonly used outside of Oceanside and Alexandria. Neither could fathom why anyone from the communities would be chasing after them miles away from home. 

Then Daryl recognized Lydia. He had hunted with her often enough to know her shape and gait and mannerisms and what she looked like silhouetted in the distance. He could see the dark fall of her long, flowing hair. The tall, gangly figure accompanying her had to be Negan. Who else would she be out here with? Daryl nearly groaned out loud. Could anything else go wrong with this day?

He turned to Carol, and saw that she'd also recognized them. He stood, stepped from behind the tree into the road and called out, "Hey."

They hadn't realized how many walkers still surrounded them until Daryl's voice rang out and they all immediately rose up and homed in on him. At least thirty were scattered throughout the woods and the field adjacent to their position and they now lurched as one toward Daryl. 

Carol sprang from her position behind the tree and took down two walkers closing in on him from behind. The couple had somehow avoided detection by and not realized there were several of the animated dead still inside the wreckage of the crash. This detail caught them completely by surprise. They had walked or ridden past this spot many times without detecting or arousing the interest of the walkers in the vehicles, which now made up for lost time by prying themselves out through the broken windows, teeth snapping hungrily at their intended prey.

"Lydia!" Carol shouted. Silence was futile now. Once their number rose into the thirties, it didn't matter how many walkers you had to deal with. 

"Carol!" Lydia shouted back. She and Negan rushed up with their knives drawn and the four of them set to taking down enough walkers to clear a path to run down the road to the south, back toward the honeymoon suite.

The only sounds they made as they fled were their labored breathing and the slap of their boots pounding on the alternating bare pavement and sopping wet patches of last year's leaves. Carol and Daryl shared a look of desperate realization as they got closer and closer to their destination. The moment of truth was drawing near and in that single glance of longing, love and regret, they felt everything they had gained weighted against what they were about to sacrifice. Neither hesitated. Daryl's eyes sent a query and Carol nodded a quick reply.

Daryl waved at Lydia and Negan. "Follow us." He and Carol swerved sharply to the right and through a break in a fence into a stand of timber. Negan and Lydia followed them blindly, there wasn't time to ask questions. It was clear Carol and Daryl knew exactly where they were going as they broke out the other side of the trees and paused to survey the surrounding fields for more walkers. It was nearly dark and difficult to see much in the rapidly fading daylight. 

The rumble of walkers was all around, but the group couldn't pinpoint their location by sound alone. A strong, cold breeze had kicked up, constantly changing directions and shifting the noise of the walkers around until they gave up trying to find them by sight and plunged away from the cover of the trees toward the farmhouse up ahead. As they galloped through the overgrown grass they saw what looked like hundreds of walkers encroaching on them from both sides of the field. The wind stopped for a second, and the sound of their growling rose to the heavens in a singular roar.

As they burst across the broken fence line bordering the farmhouse property, Daryl and Carol's hearts sank. The corrugated panels on the ground rustled and creaked as the dead trod over the tops of them. The yard was swarming with dozens of walkers, far too many for four of them to fight or slash their way through. Their access to the trapdoor in the ground was blocked. 

"Shit!" Carol hissed in uncharacteristic alarm. 

"Have to try for the inside access," Daryl rasped. "Go around the side." They immediately took off along the fence line until they'd overshot the edge of the herd, then looped around and back around the opposite side of them and toward the house. All four of them were nearing exhaustion as they pushed their bodies to the limit in their effort to escape what seemed to be an endless, fragmented horde. 

The herd had turned and fixated on them, and there were a good many positioned in between the fleeing group and their destination. Daryl surged ahead in a final push with his big knives in both hands, Carol right behind him clutching her knuckles duster, her bow and quiver bouncing on her back as she ran, hair half loose and fluttering behind her in silver streamers.

Daryl stabbed three walkers in quick succession and a fourth reaching for him from behind was dispatched by Carol. Carol didn't see another several walkers moving in until they were too close for her to take on all of them. 

Lydia came from behind like a wraith and drove her knife through the skulls of two walkers reaching for Carol before Negan caught up and joined in the fray. The four of them fought and slashed their way through the wall of the dead trampling the grass between them and safety. 

Daryl checked to make sure Carol and Lydia were right behind him, then leaped onto the porch and kicked in a large window. The high-pitched shatter of breaking glass seemed to fill the world. "Come on!" He shouted, extending his hand.

Carol shoved Lydia ahead of her to be pulled up first, as she turned and took on another set of walkers, keeping them off to the side and clearing a bubble of space for everyone to duck through the opening and off the porch. It slowed the walkers down considerably once they got through the window frame and inside the house.

Daryl led them through the living room to the short door under the staircase. He cast a single, concerned glance at Carol, remembering the tiny compartment and her claustrophobia, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. He threw the bolt and yanked the door open. 

Carol went in quickly, and it was actually a blessing they were in a panic situation as this diminished her awareness of the acutely small compartment beneath the stairs. She located the trapdoor and opened it with a silent prayer of gratitude that they'd had the foresight to leave it unlatched, and quickly descended the ladder down and away from the coffin-like space. Lydia was right behind her, fumbling awkwardly with her bow, followed by Negan and finally Daryl, who pulled the exterior door closed and latched it behind them from inside, as well as locking the trapdoor. He could hear the walkers snarling and scratching and fumbling at the staircase as they reached it. 

"What the holy hell is this?" Negan's abrasive voice rang out in the darkness. "You two been holding out on the rest of us?"

Daryl stopped off the ladder and shined his flashlight's beam directly into Negan's face. Negan squinted and threw up his hands to block the light. "I'm innocent, Officer, please don't shoot me."

Daryl looked to Carol and Lydia. "You both okay?" He asked them. They nodded. Lydia looked startled and confused, her eyes darting around like a trapped bird.

"You know this place, right?" she asked Daryl nervously.

"Yeah. Don't worry, it's safe here." He looked at Carol and they had a silent exchange the others couldn't interpret. There was a tangible sense of profound sadness and regret between them. On the one hand they were kicking themselves, on the other they knew there was no other choice. Both of them resigned from the start that the honeymoon suite was too perfect to last for long.

"All good things must come to an end... " Carol sighed.

"Ah, fuck that noise," growled Daryl. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was exciting! Gonna be a few days before the next chapter, I kinda shot my wad this weekend writing two of them back to back and neglected everything else in my life while I was at it.


	9. Door Prize

As soon as all four of Alexandria's gates were closed against the encroaching horde, Aaron walked over to the brownstones to check in on Judith and R.J. Obviously, Lydia, Daryl and Carol were not coming home tonight and Aaron wouldn't be leaving the children to their own devices.

"The fam are outside the walls, aren't they?" Judith asked as she opened the door to his knock. "I heard them sound the call to get in or go." 

"They are. All three of them. I'm sorry." Aaron tried to be reassuring. "I'm sure they're fine. They all know how to survive out there and they've done it before."

"Negan was here looking for Lydia," Judith offered. "He went after her."

"I know. I was manning the gate when he passed."

"He thinks everyone hates him."

"Everyone does," Aaron said.

Judith shot him a look of reproach. "I don't. He's my friend. He even saved my life once. And Dog's." She paused. "And Daryl's, but Daryl doesn't know that I know."

"Negan's taken dozens of lives, maybe hundreds. Never forget that," Aaron warned.

"He saved your life, too."

Aaron frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Negan told me. It's true, then... Right?" she asked. "He's helped lots of other people, and he saved everyone in all the communities when he killed the Alpha. He's giving lives back now to make up for the ones he took before."

"Did he tell you that, too?"

"Nope," Judith said. "I figured it out all by myself."

Aaron decided it would be easier to pack himself and Gracie up and spend the night with Judith and R.J. instead of the other way around. "Gracie and I are staying with you and your little brother until the others make it home. We'll be back soon." Judith nodded. 

Gracie and R.J. had a great time playing together, as usual. Judith pretended to be occupied with the settlement's food inventory but Aaron could tell she was worried about the fam. She'd picked at her dinner and, when Aaron's back was turned, slipped her plate down next to her chair and fed most of it to Dog. Aaron suspected she wouldn't get away with that when Daryl and Carol were home, but he pretended not to notice when she presented him with a plate that had obviously been licked clean. He just put it in the sink with the others.

The horde was not quite up to the walls, but they were close enough that the rule of silence was in place and the community remained as quiet as possible, waiting for the sea of walkers to pass through. 

The Dixons and Negan were the only Alexandrians missing after the gates were closed and the community reported for roll call at the Council house at dusk. Everyone assumed they'd found shelter and holed up to wait for the horde to pass. There was nothing else to be done, but wait. If they showed up at the gates, they'd be let in. Otherwise, they were on their own. Lydia and Negan had both been Whisperers so everyone assumed they could integrate into the horde at will and were in no real danger.

Rosita and Gabriel came to visit Aaron and the Grimes children with Coco, and the adults stayed up talking in signs and drinking homemade wine long into the night. Dog lay on the rug in front of the fire snoring softly, worn out from playing with the children. The horde was still a quarter mile from the wall so they could speak a little long as they kept their volume just above a whisper. The streets were eerily quiet when Gabe and Rosita left to go home. Usually when they went into lockdown mode, the growling of the horde was a constant roar of background noise. Tonight it was just distant enough to go unheard by the Alexandrians while the breeze blew into it, but close enough that the creatures of the night sensed its presence and fell silent.

**********

Negan had dragged one of the hard backed wooden chairs in the bunker toward the door apart from the others. He perched there like a gangly vulture, wrapped in a blanket and looking around the room, grinning and nodding his head and not speaking. His dark eyes danced gleefully with all the many clever words not yet pouring from his mouth. 

He looked at the colorful drapery strung artfully around the walls, he looked at the candles in their holders on the end tables and the loaded revolver gleaming next to them in the lantern light. He looked at the little round stove in the niche and at the towels slung over the shelves and the plastic pail and their wash cloths. He looked at the cup with their toothbrushes, and he looked at the futon. Then he looked up at Carol and Daryl, sitting huddled together on the futon wrapped in their blankets, glaring at him across the chamber with suspicion.

Negan's smile grew wider. He tilted his head back, nodded to himself and chuckled in that gasping, braying way he had when he was preparing to say or do something incendiary. 

"I am just sitting here," He announced loudly and spreading his arms like a carnival barker, "imagining all the many and various scenarios and... configurations... that have undoubtedly played out in this very private and quiet space..." He sucked at his teeth, savoring the moment. "I feel like I just won the door prize at a porn film festival."

Daryl closed his eyes, hung his head and facepalmed as his ears turned bright red. "This isn't fuckin' happenin,'" he groaned.

"We can shoot him, Pookie," Carol suggested playfully, nuzzling Daryl's shoulder. She was in an annoyingly cheerful mood, considering everything that had brought them back here with their unexpected -- and fifty percent completely unwanted -- company in tow. "We can lower him head first into the well until he stops wriggling..." She paused to savor the mental imagery of this act, and to narrow her eyes at the former Savior. "We can sew his lips shut with the surgical kit. We can... "

"Jesus, you two are so touchy," Negan complained. "You think the whole goddamn world doesn't know why you go on runs all the time? Give me a break!" He huffed and glared as if he were the affronted party. "And what the hell is this 'Pookie' shit?"

"Is this where you've been staying?" Lydia asked, changing the subject. Carol met her eyes and nodded. 

"It looks nice," the girl said encouragingly. "I like the walls, with the curtains. They're pretty. And the candles. It's really peaceful here. The cell was that way, sometimes. Just safe... and still." She hugged herself with both arms.

"Thanks," Carol said, offering the girl an encouraging smile. "We like it, too. It is safe... and quiet." They drifted into awkward silence. Daryl finally lifted his face from his hands to glower at Negan, who was tilting slightly back in his chair and nodding his head.

"Gotta be honest, I didn't think you had it in you, Daryl," he gloated. "Happy to admit I was wrong. You and the Queen Badass got yourselves quite the elaborate love shack here --"

"Can you ever shut up?" Carol burst out, exasperated. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Daryl, "Every shitty thing you ever said about him? You were right." She was still trying to process what had been stripped from them so abruptly, and Negan only piled insult atop injury with his goading remarks.

Daryl avoided Lydia's gaze. He fixed Negan with a smoldering blue glare, silently daring him to say one more thing.

Negan smiled wide, showing all his impossibly perfect teeth, savoring the moment as he prepared to deliver the coup de grâce. He lifted his chin in a challenge, and raised his right hand from his lap. He made sure they were all three watching as he made the two-digit peace sign, then morphed it seamlessly into a finger gun. 

Daryl was instantly livid. "Fuck you, you fuckin' piece of shit asshole -- "

Carol's mouth dropped open, she closed it quickly with an audible snap and grabbed at Daryl's arm, catching him as he lunged at Negan. Carol had believed Daryl was beyond such uncontrolled outbursts. Negan had needled and needled him for so long without results, she'd no longer worried about the possibility of a major reaction. 

Negan practically danced in his chair, extremely pleased with himself for not only finding Daryl's trigger, but virtually hammering on it.

"How did -- where did you -- " Carol sputtered, still holding on to Daryl who was no longer struggling against her and quivered with unvented fury. 

"You horny lovebirds don't pay nearly the attention to your surroundings that you think you do," Negan scolded, shaking his head. "Didn't take long to figure out what your little hand signal meant. Your secret club code," he chuckled, clearly delighted with their mutual dismay.

Lydia was looking at Carol and Daryl with growing realization. She had seen them make the sign for the twoshot on many occasions, if not daily, oblivious to what it signified. They'd used it everywhere, in the living room, at the kitchen table, and when they were out hunting. Lydia distinctly remembered a group hunt when she'd seen them use the sign several times and assumed they were discussing some strategy for stalking their prey. What they'd really been doing was planning a liaison when they could sneak off from everyone else. 

In their faces she saw the sorrow they tried to hide. In the space of less than an hour, their two most cherished shared secrets were gone.

Daryl sank wordlessly back into his place on the futon, deflated and miserable. Carol leaned her head on his shoulder, still hanging on to his arm with both of hers. She met Negan's eyes and all he saw in hers was a sad resignation. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard chair.

"Here I was led to believe you're the ultimate badasses," Negan said, "and now you both look like I just killed your puppy."

To his surprise, neither reacted. They sat side by side, heads down. Carol reached for Daryl's hand and they laced their fingers together. She turned to him and offered a tiny smile. "It was so much fun while it lasted," Carol said wistfully. "The best. I'll remember all of it forever." Daryl leaned toward her and bent down to press a tender kiss to her lips -- the first time he'd kissed her in front of anyone other than the fam. She smiled at him before glancing away, blinking rapidly to drive back the tears threatening to rise. She knew what it cost him to show that kind of vulnerability in front of Negan.

"Wow, that's just awesome," Lydia rebuked Negan, turning on him in anger. "Way to repay them for saving our asses and giving us shelter. Are you satisfied? Does it make you happy?" Her dark eyes flared. "Why do you feel like you have to -- to pick at everyone?" 

"Well, hell, kid... I was just playing around," Negan backpedaled, beginning to fidget. "And why is everyone so goddamn sensitive all of a sudden?" He looked at Carol and Daryl, and shrugged. "It's not like you two just hooked up yesterday. Why the hell can't you just screw in your own goddamn bed, in your own goddamn house like every other couple?"

"Leave us be," Carol fumed. "Can you do that? In exchange for our saving your miserable mockery of a life? Again?"

"As I recall, any saving that took place out there tonight happened on a two-way street," Negan reminded her. "I realize my presence on the scene was incidental, but we never asked you to bring us here."

"What's this 'we' shit?" Lydia cried, backing away. "Leave me out of it. Clean up your own mess." She scooched her chair a few inches further from his to emphasize her point, then turned desperately to Carol, seeking her out. "I have to pee," she confessed. "Is there a place for that?"

Carol nodded and turned to Daryl with a question in her eyes. Could she release his arm without him springing across the bunker to commit murder? He lowered his gaze and nodded. Carol squeezed his hand, then got up from the futon, picked up a candle, and beckoned Lydia to follow her into the tunnel.

**********

After Carol and Lydia had gone to the alcove, Negan tried to muster up some humility. "I really am sorry," he volunteered.

"Fuck you, you're not," Daryl grated, annoyed. "How long you known that sign?"

"Three, four months maybe. You don't use it as often as you used to."

Daryl took a moment to consider and mull over the duration and frequency of the times Negan must have seen them proposition each other in public in order to draw this conclusion. "Got a houseful of kids and responsibilities," Daryl said, glaring at him. "Kinda shit you wouldn't understand or know anything about."

"I beg to differ. You remember a place called the Sanctuary?"

"You didn't take care 'a nothin' there," Daryl snarled. "Just terrorized everyone into doing the hard labor and dirty work, unless it was the kind of dirty work you got off on."

"I truly am sorry about your friends, Daryl." Daryl looked away from him so Negan wouldn't see his internal struggle, and said nothing. Negan continued, "For whatever it's worth, Lucille never took another human life. Not after that night."

"That s'posed to make things better? Wasn't for lack of tryin,' and you just used somethin' else. A knife. Gun. Your hands. Your fuckin' minions... And why you gotta talk about that damn bat like it's a person? That's just creepy as hell. Take responsibility for your own shit, don't blame it on a stick a' wood. An inanimate object. Delusional asshole."

"Inanimate, " Negan repeated, enunciating clearly. "That's a big word for you."

"Fuck off."

"Okay, this is going nowhere fast," Negan sighed. "Not the road I'd intended to travel." 

"You just ruined -- you got no fuckin' idea, do you? Jesus, what a waste," Daryl mourned. "Don't appreciate it one bit. We both got a right to be mad as we wanna be. Better believe I'll be actively seekin' an opportunity to return the favor. Don't be surprised if you're on Carol's shit list, too."

"You I can handle," Negan boasted, "but God damn, I'd hate to be in Queen Badass' crosshairs, she is scary as shit."

""Stop callin' her that," Daryl said, "it ain't her name."

"All right, well what is the name that she officially goes by, these days?" Negan asked.

"Carol Dixon," Carol called out, returning with Lydia from the latrine. "and this is Lydia Dixon." She looked into Lydia's face and what she saw there was unexpected. "Didn't you tell him?" The girl shook her head.

"This true?" Negan asked the girl. She raised her chin defiantly, and nodded. She wasn't saying much and hadn't since they'd entered the honeymoon suite. Carol and Daryl couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

'So, here I am, at home with the Dixons," Negan announced, gesturing at the interior and smiling around at them. "In their cozy underground, uh, boudoir. Enjoying a brief vacation from the horde -- "

"You can stop already," Carol said, sitting back down next to Daryl. "We'll never forgive you," she added. "Need you to know that."

"Negan, won't you stop?" Lydia begged. "Please." She seemed to think of something, hesitated, then spoke it out loud. "Leave my folks alone?"

Her statement caught all the adults off guard. The fam had never talked about Carol's relationship to Lydia. Their surname conversation implied it, but she hadn't dared to assume when the conversation wasn't followed by a clarifying declaration or announcement. Like Carol adopting Daryl's surname, they'd kept the entire thing pretty low-key. Lydia acknowledging Carol as a parent was entirely new. Carol remembered the night she'd referred to Lydia as Daryl's daughter and wondered if this was how her words had made Lydia feel. Carol shot her a smile and once again fought back tears that wanted to emerge. She'd never cried happy tears until recently and now, in spite of everything, it seemed she couldn't stop.

"I'm really tired," Lydia said. "and I'm hungry, too. Is there anything to eat? We're going to be here a while, right? Until the herds go away?" 

Carol and Daryl exchanged a look. He shrugged, she sighed. They got to their feet and walked over to the stacked plastic totes and removed the lids from two of them. They conversed in sign and turned away so the others couldn't see what they were saying.

Not the good stuff.

Not for him. What about her?

Get four each. For now. In case. Might be here days.

Shut up, you. 

Carol reached into the tote toward the opened packet of chocolate there. Daryl caught her wrist. Are you sure? he signed. She nodded. He leaned back, and opened the tote with the sporks and paper plates. 

Negan watched with interest from his chair in a silence as rare as snow in July. He glanced at Lydia and she cut him a look that let him know she was not at all happy with his performance. 

Sorry, Negan signed. I am sorry.

She shook her head. Don't lie. You like hurting people, and I hate that you like it.

"Lydia?" Carol called. "Come over and pick one of these out." The girl stood and walked over to join her, peering over Carol's shoulder at the foil packages in the plastic tote. She sorted through them curiously. "Beef stroganoff?" She grabbed at one of the pouches. "Biscuits and gravy? Can I have this one?"

Carol rummaged through the tote and found a second. "Take two of them. Here." She handed Lydia two packets of her selection. She and Daryl made their own choices, and after some discussion, she picked out spaghetti and meat sauce for Negan. 

Daryl walked over to the shelves. "I'll get water." He retrieved the water bucket and its rope and went to uncover the aquifer. Negan watched with animated interest, his expression shifting from shocked disbelief to curiosity to amazement. Carol watched Negan's face as he observed Daryl drawing the water, and she might have laughed had she not despised him so much right then.

"Hot damn," Negan exclaimed, as Daryl drew the bucket of water out. "Is there anything the amazing dynamic duo of badassery don't have down here?" 

"Privacy," Daryl muttered. He set the bucket down by the stove and turned to Lydia. "Kind 'a tea you want? We got mint or rose hips."

"Got any honey?"

"Yeah we can maybe rustle some up for you." 

"Rose hips with honey, then."

"A'right." He shot Negan a dirty look. "You'll eat and drink what we give you. Or you can go without. Makes no difference to me."

Negan gave a nod. "Don't happen to have any canned dog food, do you?" he added, in a weak attempt at a joke.

Daryl shook his head. "Don't." He poured the little bucket of water into a pot, and went to draw another for tea. Carol lit the propane stove and set the pot on it to boil. 

Lydia wrapped up in her blanket on her chair hugging herself and starting at the floor, stuck in her own thoughts. She sensed Negan trying to get her attention and ignored him. She felt bad for Carol and Daryl, almost to the point of crying. They'd only been trying to find a place where they could be alone and safe, and now even that was ruined for them.

She knew a little about how they'd suffered in their lives going back even before the Turn, pieced together from things she'd overhead and questions she'd asked. Daryl had told her how his father had beat on him and his brother had talked him down, and the story of how he'd left the Kingdom to live in the woods for years after Carol married the King. She'd ached for his pain and heartbreak and loneliness. As awful as life was with the Whisperers, at least there were other people around her. 

Carol had transformed herself from an abused housewife to a formidable warrior who masqueraded as the helpless creature she used to be. She'd taken on and destroyed entire groups of marauders. She was small and slight in stature and played meek and mild like the chameleonic colors they were. Carol's best cover was that other people tended to underestimate her, and this gave her an edge. She was also deadly with a knife and a bow and extremely quick. She could act and think on her feet in a high stress trauma situation when most others were still struggling to process what was happening. Lydia knew she'd had a daughter who'd been lost to the walkers, years before the Whisperers killed her son Henry. 

Carol and Daryl had both suffered so much loss and now they had each other. It made Lydia and everyone else who cared about them a little happier, knowing that after everything, they were finally happy. If anyone who'd suffered as much as they had could still find some kind of peace, Lydia justified, then maybe one day she would, too. She knew this whole thing happening was probably her fault. She'd gone hunting alone when no one was supposed to go hunting alone. If she hadn't, Negan wouldn't have come looking for her, and if he didn't come looking for her, they wouldn't all be here now.

"I can actually hear the ghosts of your howls reverberating from these walls," Negan observed conversationally. "Honest to God, if this place had ears? I'm guessing there's been entire symphonies played on that futon."

"Can you do something to stop the noises coming from your mouth?" Carol asked. She had the pouches lined up and opened and she poured a measure of boiling water into each of them, then filled the pot again and put it back on the stove.

"Probably not," he admitted. "How long you all had this place?"

Daryl shrugged. "Found it last fall." He stirred the contents of each pouch with a spork, then sealed them closed and checked the watch on the table. He was regaining his zen much sooner than he'd expected, considering what they'd lost. Water under the bridge or some shit. It wasn't like they were going to get the secrecy of the honeymoon suite back. Daryl supposed the urge to move on and move forward was evidence he really was getting old. Life was too damn short to stew over things you couldn't undo.

"Hot damn. So you two been coming here," Negan shot them a sideways wink, "-- pun intended -- for six months?"

Carol fixed Negan with a bold and steely gaze. "Looks like you put an end to that."

"How so?" he asked.

Daryl shook his head, twirling the spork between his fingers. "It's not a private hideaway if it's not private anymore." 

"Oh hell," Negan scoffed, leaning back and slapping his thigh. "You think I'm gonna reveal the location of your little bolt hole? What do you people take me for?"

"You really want an answer to that?" Carol queried.

"Probably not," he said, accepting the spork and pouch of hot food she handed to him. "Spaghetti and meat sauce," he read from the label, grinning. "Now that is appropriate."

The Dixons all greeted this statement with expressions of puzzlement and slight annoyance.

"Oh, that's right!" Negan exclaimed gleefully. "You all have no idea about that. Carol was-- I don't know where you were, but you weren't even the Queen yet, and Daryl, well, I guess Daryl was still enjoying our hospitality at the Sanctuary -- "

"What's your point?" Carol asked impatiently.

"I took Carl back to Rick's house and fed him spaghetti," Negan said mostly to himself, shaking his head and chuckling. "That kid. He was something else. Smart as hell, nerves of steel and the balls of an elephant. I still miss him." He jerked himself from his reverie. "But anyway... I cooked spaghetti at Rick's. Rick was gone... out of town on a run. Cooked for Carl and Judith and Olivia."

"You killed Olivia," Daryl said. 

"No, I did not kill Olivia. Arat killed Olivia."

"Same thing." Daryl sat next to Carol again and tilted his meal pouch toward her so she could scoop out a bite. Lydia rolled her eyes and Carol smiled and winked at her, popping the bite into her mouth. She offered her own dinner to Daryl for him to sample.

"No one cares about your spaghetti story," Daryl told Negan, digging out a scoop of Carol's entree. "Shut up and eat."

Lydia finished with the first pouch of biscuits and gravy, scraping it clean, and picked up the second. She saw Carol watching her. "It's good," the girl admitted. "I'm really hungry." She opened the second pouch and scooped out a bite.

Negan thought the spaghetti was actually pretty damn good and the best thing he'd tasted in a long while. He understood how unappreciated any words of appreciation from him would be, so he ate in silence and tried not to look like he was he was enjoying his meal.

"I wonder who's got the kids," Daryl mused. "Ain't like there was the chance to ask anyone."

"What the hell are you leaving those kids alone all day for, anyhow?" Negan demanded. "R.J.'s just a whippersnapper and Judith's -- "

"What the hell would you know about raising children," Carol demanded. "All you ever had were wives."

An unexpected twinge of hurt pinched the corners of his eyes, then was gone. "My wives," Negan asserted, puffing up a little and waving his spork in the air for emphasis as he spoke, "were all incredibly lovely, articulate, and intelligent ladies." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Now, if you had been one of -- "

"Not a chance," Carol said, shutting the door. "I do understand you never hit women, though. And you've supposedly got a thing against rape," she added.

Daryl looked at her askance. "Where'd you hear that?"

Carol picked at her supper and shrugged. "Some of the wives moved to Kingdom after the Sanctuary fell." 

Daryl turned on Negan. "You got a thing against rape but you forced all them women to marry you. How's that work?"

"I didn't force anyone," Negan insisted. "It was always their own choice. Free will."

"Choice a' what? Either be your wife, or you burn their man's face off with a hot iron? Stick 'em on a spike outside the fence? Starve 'em or work 'em to death?" Daryl shook his head. "Ain't much of a choice when you only got the lesser of two evils to pick from."

"Well I'm not in charge of a goddamn thing except a vegetable garden now, Daryl," Negan said, "and that shit was forever ago. I get it that you're holding a grudge -- I would -- but I am not that guy, anymore. I haven't been that guy for a long fucking time. A long time." He ate a couple sporkfuls of the spaghetti, raised his eyebrows and nodded his continuing approval. 

Carol and Daryl exchanged a few words under their breath, speaking too low for the others to  
hear. Daryl nodded and started to rise, and Carol touched his arm, urging him to wait. She turned to Lydia. "There's another futon against the wall. We'll set it up after we finish eating. It's a little more comfortable than that hard chair, and you can sleep on it."

"Where's Negan going to sleep?" Lydia asked.

"Who cares?" Daryl groused. "Put his ass on the floor. In the tunnel." He was still seeing the image of Negan popping off the twoshot sign in his face. Only the fact that Lydia was present was why they were so generously sharing their food and shelter with his snarky ass and all of them knew it.

They finished eating and Daryl helped Lydia set up the second futon while Carol cleaned up after their meals and made more tea. Carol had an impulse to spit in Negan's tea and decided against it, not wanting him to have any part of her in his mouth even if intended as an insult. Besides, he was now watching her intently from his chair across the room. When she glanced up from his cup and caught him watching her, she smiled. Her sunny, charming and bright Cookie Carol smile.

Negan smiled back, then watched Lydia and Daryl lower the futon frame from the wall and set it up. The futons both open took up a lot of space in the chamber. They left enough room to walk in between them, then unwrapped the plastic from the second mattress and rolled it out. Lydia dropped gratefully on to it with an audible sigh. Daryl tossed her another blanket and she rolled herself up in both blankets like a burrito. "Thanks, Dad," she said, the words just spilling out.

"No problem," Daryl said, seeming not to react but his heart was pounding. 

Carol carefully picked her way around the futons and handed Daryl and Lydia each a hot cup of tea, still smiling, but now it warmed into a smile just for them. It was the closest thing they'd had to a family moment, and they were all afraid to speak and break the spell, so they stood there, smiling like shy idiots.

"Now, that is some heartwarming shit," Negan brayed in his typical fashion with all the subtlety of an air horn. "It's like watching the Hallmark Channel. Or maybe it's more like watching the Hallmark Channel while Behind the Green Door!" He let out a whoop and slapped his knee in celebration of his own wit. 

"You are such an asshole," Daryl told him. "Ain't never a dull moment with you, is there?"

"Well it gets such a rise out of you. Daryl, and it's possible I'm wrong, but I'm beginning to think embarrassment's your color."

"Deceased is gonna be yours if you don't shut the fuck up."

"It's getting late," Carol said, changing the subject. "Lydia, will you show Negan the facilities before we turn in?"

Lydia unwrapped herself and left one of the blankets behind, draping the other around her shoulders like a poncho, took the flashlight offered by Daryl and led Negan into the tunnel toward the alcove.

As soon as they were gone, Carol put both hands on Daryl's chest and pushed him back against the nearest wall. She took the sides of his head in her hands, clutching her fingers in his hair, pulled his face down to her and kissed him with a desperate passion he immediately returned. Eventually the need to breathe broke them apart.

"We're the ones who live," she said, rubbing his nose with hers.

Daryl cupped Carol's face and kissed her again the way she'd kissed him. "We are," he agreed. 

"I'm so sorry about our honeymoon suite," she whispered.

"Don't be. At least we had it. Made some red hot memories in here," he teased. "We can reminisce when we're old and toothless, in our rockers on the porch." 

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I plan to keep all my teeth."

They heard footsteps coming back through the tunnel and instinctively stepped apart. When Carol thought of how perpetually shy Daryl was, it made her that much more pleased that he revealed and opened himself to her the way he did when they were alone. Except for an occasional kiss in the presence of the fam and the one here today, no one else had ever seen that side of him. It was only for her.

Lydia returned first, leaving the flashlight with Negan. "Quite the arrangement you have here," Negan said, impressed as he pushed the door to the alcove closed behind him on his return. "All the creature comforts and the necessary accommodations."

"We can't take much credit," Carol admitted. "Almost everything was already here."

Lydia re-wrapped herself in both blankets again and sat on the second futon. "Is this where the beans and rice and stuff have been coming from?"

"Yeah," Daryl acknowledged. "The chocolate, too."

"You have chocolate?" Negan asked, sounding hopeful.

"Maybe," said Carol. She pulled some more blankets from the shelf and made sure everyone had a couple. Negan seemed startled to be offered anything beyond the spaghetti dinner, and when he took the blankets from Carol, their hands touched, and she noticed his were cold as ice. He was probably well down the road to hypothermia. He wrapped himself in his blankets much as Lydia had with hers and sat down in the hard-backed chair again.

"You can sit here, Negan," Lydia volunteered, patting the futon. Daryl and Carol exchanged a glance, then looked away. Negan stood up, hesitantly, as if he expected one or both of them to object, then he shuffled over to the futon and sat down on the side closest to the wall, opposite from Lydia. His whole torso transmitted his relief to be off of the hard wooden chair.

"Im'a light the stove," Daryl said to Carol. "Not much wood left, but it's something, and we'll sleep a little better if it warms up a couple degrees in here first."

"Great idea," she agreed. ""I'll get us all a snack before bed." She retrieved the two chocolate bars she'd taken out earlier, unwrapped them and broke them into halves. She handed two halves to Lydia. Lydia kept one half and passed the other to Negan.

It was the first time any of them had seen Negan speechless. He held the piece of chocolate between his fingers and stared down at it, stunned. 

"It's chocolate," Lydia said.

"I know what it is, kid." His voice was husky and thick with emotion. 

It occurred to Carol and Daryl that Negan had probably not seen or eaten candy of any kind since he ran the Sanctuary. As Carol had said, he ate whatever shit they threw his way (and whatever he managed to grow in the garden), and that was it. He'd been half-starved for years and he looked it. No one wanted to trade with Negan, no one wanted a working arrangement with him. He wasn't a link in any of the human chains of industry that operated between the settlements. He didn't always get even bread to eat, yet he never complained of being hungry. 

He knew he should say or do something, but he just sat there and stared at the bar. His fingers were still so cold the chocolate wasn't melting.

"I recommend eating that," Carol said lightly. "It's chilly in here, and you'll shiver less if you have something before you sleep."

"It's a candy bar," Negan said. He was still staring at it as if fixated. "You gave me an honest-to-goodness candy bar. Goddamn."

"It don't mean we're friends," Daryl warned. He too, had seen Negan's reaction to the sweets and it pissed him off because the last thing he wanted was to feel any kind of empathy for that asshole. It occurred to Daryl that while Negan hadn't physically been locked in his cell for some time, he was still existing within a kind of prison for as long as he remained in Alexandria.

"You Dixons are all staring at me," Negan said. "Knock it off." He raised the candy to his mouth and took a bite, then chewed with an expression it might have pleased them to see on anyone else. "Holy shit," he breathed through a mouthful of chocolate, "that's almost better than sex. Although I'm nearly certain you two might beg to differ -- "

"Don't push your luck," Carol warned. Daryl lit the little wood stove in the niche and the flames jumped up quickly. The kindling snapped and popped as it burned. Soon there was a glowing bed of coals in the coffee-can sized stove. The couple had strung a couple of lines across the chamber that ran directly above the niche with the stove and Carol slung their damp, sweaty socks over it as they changed into fresh ones. Ever since getting caught in the December deluge, they kept a change of clothes in the honeymoon suite and they were never more grateful for the advance planning than now. 

They took a flashlight and their fresh clothes and retreated to the alcove to change. While they were out there, Daryl climbed the ladder to throw the bolt on the bottom of the trapdoor. He could faintly hear the scuffle of walker feet on the corrugated sheets of tin overhead, although it was still so quiet inside he had to pause and hold his breath in order to listen. They walked back to the main chamber and closed the door, then sidled around both futons to sit on theirs.

They'd left a space between the futons wide enough to walk through. Carol and Lydia occupied the middle and the men lay on the outside near the walls. Flashlights, candles and matches were distributed so they wouldn't trip over each other in the dark. Daryl got up to put the last of the wood in the little stove. The flames bathed the chamber in a faint, amber glow.

Carol met Negan's eyes. "You're uncharacteristically quiet," she observed. 

He looked apologetic. "I'd prefer to express my gratitude for the hospitality, but I figured that'd probably just piss you off."

"Yeah. It probably would." She studied him hard. "Did you torture Daryl? He won't talk about what happened to him at the Sanctuary."

"I'm right fuckin' here," Daryl interjected. "You tell her a thing about it," he warned the other man in a low growl, "I'll make your ass sleep in the alcove. Without a blanket."

"Why not?" Carol demanded. 

"It's done. Was a long time ago." He met Negan's eyes across the futons. "Could'a done worse to me. He didn't. Not like I didn't provide opportunities for it, neither. Saw 'im do worse to others." 

Negan nodded thoughtfully and studied his hands.

"I ain't forgivin' you," Daryl said quickly. "I won't. 'Case you were wonderin.'"

Negan shook his head. "I wasn't." He kicked off his boots and swung his legs up onto the futon. He arranged and rearranged his blankets until Lydia turned to him in exasperation and said, "You're worse than Dog when it comes to making your bed. He just turns round three times and lies down. You've been pawing at those blankets for five whole minutes."

Negan stopped fidgeting with the blankets and hung his head. "Got a touch of claustrophobia," he confessed. "Hate closed in, dark spaces."

"Since when?" Daryl demanded.

"Since way before you all locked me in a goddamn cell for eight years." Daryl opened his mouth and Negan raised his hand to silence him. "I had it coming, I get it, not disputing that. You know," he added, "I'm willing to admit, I did some bad shit. I paid for it and I'm still paying for it, and I'm telling you, I --"

"You what? Reformed?" Carol asked. "We've all killed other people. The difference is Daryl, Lydia and I --" Carol stopped suddenly. She really didn't know what Lydia had or hadn't done. The Whisperers killed everyone they came across, so she couldn't really speak to Lydia's reality before Alexandria. Carol realized she'd lapsed into silence and the rest of them were waiting for her to finish what she'd been saying. 

She cleared her throat. "I was thinking I can't speak for Lydia because I don't know what her life with the Whisperers was like. Will you tell us?" she asked, turning to the girl expectantly.

Lydia looked uncomfortable and burrowed so deep into her blankets they could see little more of her than her eyes and mouth and nose as she spoke. "Negan knows how we lived, too. It was cold and wet. We were hungry and dirty all the time. No one was kind, or nice... that was weakness. We had to be strong." The others were quiet and waited, sensing she hadn't finished. "We killed people. Anyone. There were lots of us, we didn't need more Whisperers. People need to eat, and we didn't always have enough food as it was."

"They didn't kill you," Carol said pointedly to Negan. "Why not?"

"He has a smart mouth and he's not afraid," Lydia said from her cave of blankets, answering for him. "Alpha appreciated people who had... courage."

"Courage," Daryl snorted. "Whatever."

"She didn't kill you, either," Lydia said. "You're brave, too. She could see it in you, or you'd be dead." She let her face out of the blankets a little. "She liked smart people, brave people. Anyone less became a Guardian. We lived like that for years." She hesitated, then added, "I like your ways better."

"I know this is interesting for everyone," Negan said. "But are we going to sleep, or sit up all night having a pajama party? Because I for one, am beat. And I'd just as soon not reminisce about the skin freaks." He did look rather haggard.

Lydia heaved a sigh of relief to have everyone's attention off her.

"You all got flashlights or matches?" Daryl asked. "Don't want to be tripping all over each other in the dark." Everyone ensured they had access to a light source. Carol suggested leaving a single candle lit, and they put it in the niche farthest from them. They all laid with their heads toward the door. 

Carol and Daryl lay facing each other. "It's so strange being in here and remaining on the mortal plane," she whispered, moving close, mouth to his ear. "I keep remembering... thinking of all the times... I can't stop," she added, nibbling gently on his earlobe. "I'm so sorry we've lost the honeymoon suite, but I'm glad we're both alive... and that Lydia's alive."

"We'll find something else," he whispered back, "way better than this damn dungeon." Carol signed and burrowed up against him and he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent. Daryl gave the tiniest groan when Negan began to snore on the far side of the futons. It had been a stressful day for everyone, and soon they all slept.

***********

After they woke in the morning, Daryl and Negan went to the house to check the scene up above. They spotted at least two herds of fifty or more, both a little ways off, but visible from the windows. There were only a few walkers milling around in the yard now, and two in the house, which the men quickly dispatched. They tore the sheets off the beds and left them in a pile next to one of the bodies, then returned to the bunker the way they'd left it, via the stairwell hatch.

Carol and Lydia both breathed an audible sigh of relief when they returned."What's it like up there?" Carol asked anxiously. With the extra bed and people in it, the space was beginning to close in on her. She also believed Negan's claim of claustrophobia. He seemed jumpier than usual and leapt up immediately to volunteer to accompany Daryl to see if the coast was clear. 

"They've thinned out," Daryl said, "but there's still some good sized herds close by. Saw two bigger than we can fight, and that's just what we could spot from inside the house. We need to wear a walker." He looked from Negan to Lydia. "You two got masks?"

Both stared at him without speaking.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Carol said, exasperated. "Do you, or don't you?"

"Yeah," they confessed, in unison. 

Daryl sighed and scratched his head. "Okay. That simplifies things." He turned to Carol. "Killed a couple walkers in the house. Took some sheets off the beds and put em by the bodies. We can cut em open and gunk up and get the hell outta here." He jerked his chin toward Lydia and Negan. "These two can wear their masks."

"What about the bike?" Carol asked. "Should we try to move it?"

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. "Yeah, maybe. If it ain't overrun. Maybe we can get it outta the road and into the bushes. Till we can come back with a wagon. I think the four of us together maybe can pick it up."

"What happened?" Negan asked. "We were close enough to hear your tire blow."

"Chain broke, hung up in the sprocket." Daryl was already putting his things back into his pack. He turned to Carol. "Might as well take whatever we can pack outta here that we want and got room for." 

"You vacating the premises?" Negan asked, surprised. "I meant it when I said the secret of your boudoir is safe with me. I wouldn't dream of depriving you of your wang dang sweet poontang bunker... You got a name for this place?" He grinned. "Your bolt hole boudoir? What do you call it? I know you've got to call it something."

"It's the honeymoon suite," Carol admitted. "Or at least it was... " 

"Well that's appropriate," Negan agreed. "You two being newlyweds like you are."

"We're not," Daryl interjected. "I mean, we ain't officially married."

"Yep," Negan said, "Keep telling yourselves that." He finished loading his pack just as Carol offered him a spork and a pouch of hot, reconstituted breakfast scramble. Like the spaghetti from the night before, it was one of the tastiest meals he'd eaten in years. He tried unsuccessfully to conceal his appreciation and enjoyment of the food. 

Carol experienced a pang of guilt to think of the isolation and rejection that was a daily part of Negan's Alexandria life. Then she stamped it down and reminded herself he had earned every last bit of it. Negan was a prime example of the old adage, "you reap what you sow." She just wasn't sure when or if the reaping should end, and it wasn't her call, anyway. 

Carol mulled over the ridicule he'd dealt out to them, and their response. Negan made fun of them and their hideaway, he blew up the twoshot in their faces and laughed, their humiliation and exposure complete. In return, they had fed him and given him blankets, a place to sleep and a pot to piss in. Negan might claim he'd evolved, but he had nothing on Carol and Daryl who, only a few years ago, would have slit his throat or shot him and been done with it by now. 

They finished their breakfasts and put the empty pouches in a bin and lidded it. The bag they customarily used for garbage was somewhere near the bike, so they put the empty packaging someplace where it hopefully wouldn't smell up the bunker. Even if they never came to stay again, they would return later for the guns and remaining provisions in the totes. 

Carol had the .38 still and there was one box of ammunition for it remaining in the bunker. She reloaded the cylinder and pocketed the rest. They decided to leave the other guns for now, determined to avoid discharging firearms if they could help it. The noise wouldn't do them any favors and in the current environment, would draw far more walkers than they could use the firearms on, anyway. As a last-minute addition, Carol put the opened bag of chocolate bars in the top of her pack. They drew and filtered water and filled their canteens and prepared to leave.

Daryl ascended the stairs to throw the bolt on the hatch in the yard. They were exiting the bunker through the hatch under the stairs, but it was always good to keep options open. There were no new walkers in the house. Lydia and Negan masked up and waited while Daryl and Carol cut up the sheets and opened a walker's abdomen, then smeared the offal all over the sheets and donned them like ponchos. Both grimaced in disgust at the stench. 

"Should be all right to get home if it don't rain on us," Daryl observed, squinting up at the sky as they stepped out onto the porch. The cloud cover was thick enough to block the sunlight, but didn't display the shades of dark bluish gray that usually accompanied downpours. The four of them stepped down into the side yard and made their way to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely happy with this chapter but at some point you need to move forward and again, it's been a super long time since I wrote anything at all (except for the two stories posted here on 9L) so I'm still a little rusty. Never written anything and shared it chapter by chapter as I go along, either, and hats off to anyone who manages that on a regular basis as it is truly nerve racking.
> 
> There is one more chapter yet to come.


	10. Homecomings

The four of them moved quickly when not surrounded by walkers. As they approached each new herd, they slowed and dropped into a shuffle, joining the sometimes mesmerizing drift until they reached the opposite side of the herd and could slip away into the landscape and pick up their pace without attracting the notice of the dead. 

On an average day, the hike from the honeymoon suite to the gates took a couple hours. Today they used as much time getting from the bunker to the bike. To Daryl's immense relief, it was lying in the same place they'd left it. The only walkers in eyeshot were the ones they'd dispatched right after the accident. 

They quickly went to work uncovering the motorcycle and pulling the brush off it. Negan and Daryl shoved it into an upright position. Daryl fussed over the chain long enough to verify it wouldn't be easily dislodged, then the four of them each got a good grip on a solid piece of the bike. They managed to move it off the road by lifting it together and part carrying, part dragging it a couple feet at a time. They worked at a good pace and not only got the bike off the asphalt, but down into the ditch, out of view of any but the tallest passing vehicles, where they covered it with brush again. They all felt a sense of accomplishment when they finished the task and took a breather on the shoulder of the road, scanning the horizon for herds.

A mile in the distance was a large herd of several hundred walkers extending far across the road on both sides. The four of them contemplated it in silence for a time, mulling over their options. They could attempt to go around it, which might take hours and lead to encounters with even bigger herds off the road and in unfamiliar terrain. Or, they could pass through the herd, requiring both camouflage sufficient to evade detection, and enough sense of direction to avoid circling endlessly in the center of it. Turning around and going back was not an option, since every time they went outside the walls there were more and bigger herds than the last. They didn't talk about how they were going to get around or through the horde itself when they reached it.

Lydia and Negan had the definite advantage with their Whisperer masks. They suggested the four of them pass through the herd, linking hands with the two former Whisperers in the front and rear of the human chain. Lydia would lead because she was the most experienced. Carol and Daryl hated the thought of Lydia taking such a dangerous position, but it was the move that made the most sense and they knew it. 

"I can do this," Lydia assured them. "I walked with the Guardians almost half of my life. We called them Guardians for a reason." 

They decided to pick up the pace until they were within fifty yards of the big herd, then drop into the walker shuffle and join it. They encountered and took out several walkers along the way and Daryl and Carol cut into one of them and replenished the blood and disgusting bits on the sheets they'd draped over themselves. They exited a stand of timber into an open field. The herd was milling at the opposite end. The group dropped into the walker stagger as they neared the outside edge of the herd and assumed their positions, linking hands: Lydia leading, followed by Daryl, Carol, and Negan bringing up the rear.

The walkers bumped up against them, their growling a roar that filled the world as they were enveloped and surrounded by the herd. Daryl noticed that the walker masks and their body language immediately gave Lydia and Negan the power of invisibility. Some of the walkers sniffed and snarled into the air, sensing the presence of breathers but unable to home in on their location. They sniffed at Daryl and Carol more often than the former Whisperers, which served only to increase the couple's adrenalin flow and make them smell even more alive among the dead.

Lydia gave Daryl's hand a squeeze. She turned back slightly, and signed, Be calm. Breathe. She wasn't sure how to convey that their growing nervousness and the chemicals it emitted would make it easier for the walkers to detect them. 

Daryl understood her. He turned back to Carol, who looked like she was having a claustrophobic moment in the press of the herd, remembering what happened the last time she'd walked with them, at the Tower. Daryl met her eyes and pantomimed a few deep, slow breaths. Carol caught on immediately and imitated him, trying to calm her racing pulse as Lydia urged them carefully and steadily through the maze of walkers.

Carol's world was reduced to the hands she held onto and the claustrophobic crush of stumbling walker bodies. Their snarls surrounded her. She put her head down, closed her eyes and let Daryl lead her through the cacophony. It went on and on and seemed to last forever. Once or twice her feet caught on something and she nearly stumbled. She looked up and opened her eyes to meet Daryl's as he turned to her in concern.

Lydia signed back to the group, Away from them soon. She pointed at a clearing ahead.

They broke out of the herd into a cluster of houses and released their grip on each other. Everyone's hands were cold and numb from clinging together. They quickly sidled in between a pair of houses, checked the alley behind them, then took off running away from the herd and toward the main road. They quickly achieved a safe distance and slowed their pace back to a walk to avoid overheating. Lydia and Negan had removed their masks when they started to run. After verifying there were no visible large herds remaining between them and the horde, which was still over a mile off, they tucked the masks into their pockets.

Need masks for all the fam, Daryl signed. Lydia shrugged and nodded.

The idea of using a Whisperer mask made more sense than any other option they'd exercised. Wearing the guts was messy, disgusting and a health hazard. It was a major undertaking to acquire and apply them, a process requiring time that wasn't always available. Masks were dried and cured, basically mummified. They were easily wadded up and carried. They lasted a long time and could be reused indefinitely if properly cared for. The walkers that approached to sniff at them always looked at their faces first, and the Whisperer masks seemed to fool them completely. It was the perfect solution to their primary problem.

Carol pointed ahead to a gas station on the corner. The parking lot was milling with walkers. The two former Whisperers put their masks back on and they all shuffled and stumbled through the area and down a couple blocks where another enormous herd they'd completely missed blocked their path and blotted out the horizon. They didn't think it was the horde itself, but the herd was so large it seemed to be.

"Fuck," Daryl hissed. They immediately linked up again in the same order as before and, after a brief pause while Lydia got her bearings, they plunged resolutely into and fought the wave of walkers again. Lydia kept her sense of direction by pushing against the current of Guardians as if it were a riptide, working at a steady angle against their push and flow. Once again they were swallowed up by a sea of the walking dead.

*********  
The first time most Alexandrians realized Negan was gone was with the absence of his wares at the morning market. Negan didn't man a stand nor did he demand compensation for whatever plant foods and dried meats he set out. The garden supposedly belonged to everyone, yet Negan was the only person who tended it. He knew how they all felt about him, and he made it as easy as possible for everyone to partake of the harvest without requiring any personal interaction, rising early to select the ripest of the day's produce and leaving it arranged neatly in wooden crates on the market corner for people to help themselves. Sometimes they left a little something behind in the crates in exchange; a pouch of rice, a stale but not yet moldy loaf of bread, arrows for his bow. Most afternoons the crates were empty when he retrieved them to go through the motions all over again the following day.

This time of year the garden produced nothing. It was barely plowed and planted and still many weeks away from the first harvest of the season. Negan had set aside beets, winter squash, onions, garlic, potatoes and apples in the fall, keeping them in covered barrels in the darkest corner of the root cellar. The beets, potatoes and squash were depleted, and Negan had been eating fried apples and onions with a little sugar Lydia pilfered from the fam's pantry, and some molasses Judith traded for and snuck to him. He was thin as a rail and couldn't always stay warm enough at night to sleep, even with a fire in the hearth.

The morning market went on even during the silence lockdowns. It was a daily trade event many people depended on for essential needs such as food, toiletries, tools, clothing no weapons. The noisy industries like blacksmithing and construction had temporarily halted out of necessity, but people were still cooking, baking, sewing, and dressing themselves. It was the first time most of the settlement's residents made a direct connection between Negan and the availability of certain items. The absence of beets, onions and apples at the market were noticed immediately. Negan was the only person in Alexandria with any cellar produce left from the year before.

Aaron brought the kids to the council with him rather than leave them unattended in the brownstone. R.J. always went with the flow and didn't seem troubled by the absence of the Dixons. Judith, on the other hand, was taking it hard and decided once again that adult supervision was what she needed right now. Gracie had accompanied Aaron to council meetings several times in the past and he had no misgivings about showing up now with all three kids in tow. R.J. and Gracie headed immediately to the toy box in the far corner, while Judith stationed herself at a table with her note pad a short distance from the council members.

Aaron looked at the faces around the table and realized how many were absent, some permanently . Siddiq and Laura were dead, Michonne gone for the better part of a year, and Daryl was outside the walls somewhere. That left Aaron, Gabriel, Nora and Kyle. They all spoke in low voices. Surveillance had reported the horde was a little further away this morning and the wind was blowing toward Alexandria.

"The garden... " Nora began.

"It needs less tending now than at most times of the year," Gabriel emphasized. "Someone should weed and water it daily, until Negan comes back." Nobody mentioned the possibility that Negan might not return.

"Is Negan compensated for tending the garden?" Kyle asked.

"No," Aaron replied. "He is not officially compensated, no." He exchanged a glance with Gabriel. 

"Unofficially?" Kyle inquired. When no answer came, he pressed, "So... He feeds us all, but no one feeds him?" 

Aaron started to speak and Gabriel raised his hand to stop him. "Please elaborate," he said to Kyle.

"I mean, he plants the garden, he tends to it, he picks the vegetables every day during harvest and puts them on the corner at morning market. He's always pushing a wheelbarrow or holding a shovel or a watering can... Unless he's out hunting with the Dixon girl." He searched their faces, puzzled. "The man spends most of his life tending that garden and we all benefit from it. Don't you think he deserves something in exchange?"

"Like what?" Aaron asked. "How he was allowed to stay here as a free man and live among decent people after what he did? He's asked for nothing. He helps himself to the garden at will, and he hunts his own meat. I don't believe he's starving to death, but I'm open to ideas, hit me up."

"I don't know, we should probably ask Negan what he needs," Kyle suggested. I'm thinking maybe dry goods, clothes, boots, soap, that sort of thing. The man's practically in rags and I didn't think we practiced the caste system around here."

Aaron straightened up, his back stiff. "You weren't there. He's a criminal. The worst kind of murderer. He doesn't deserve luxuries."

"Food's not a luxury," Gabriel said. "Kyle has a point. Negan is pretty thin."

"He hunts almost every day. And he can eat at the community kitchen any time," Aaron said testily. 

"He can, but he won't," Gabriel said. He costs them a whole table at mealtimes because no one will sit near him. As a result, he doesn't go at all so that others may eat."

"Oh, brother," Aaron said, rolling his eyes. "Shall we grant him sainthood?" Gabriel ignored him.

"Can we arrange for delivery or pickup? A box of basic provisions to supplement whatever he's got left in the root cellar until the garden's producing again?" Nora asked. "I agree with Gabriel, the man's too skinny, he could use a little fattening up, especially when he's taken it upon himself to ensure the rest of us get our vitamins in the summer and fall."

Gabriel looked to Aaron and raised his eyebrows in a question.

"Okay," Aaron breathed, reluctant but accepting. "I'll take care of it personally. I'll be looking after the Grimes children, too." Both Judith and R.J. looked up at him from the back of the room, and he waved. "Gracie and I will stay with them until the Dixons get back." No one mentioned the possibility they might not return, either. 

"Rosita and I can help, too," Gabriel offered, with a reassuring smile as he reached over to grip Aaron's good arm. "We're all family here."

Kyle and Nora volunteered to find someone to care for the garden in Negan's absence. They went over a couple minor items and tabled the rest. R.J. and Gracie put the toys back in the toy box - quietly - and they all got up and left. Aaron had to walk over to and wave at Judith to stir her from whatever reverie she was caught up in as she scribbled madly in her notebook. She closed the cover and put the pencil she was writing with in her breast pocket. 

"Brainstorming?" Aaron asked her.

"Something like that." Judith gathered her things and followed after Aaron and the others. 

**********

It was strange, the hypnotic effect of walking with the herd. There was no thought involved, no interactions, only the mindless movement of the collective as it swayed and crept across the land. They literally drifted in the void, linked only by their hands and whatever they could communicate with their eyes. 

They'd walked with this particular group of Guardians for over an hour now. Lydia was beginning to wonder if the herd had switched direction outside her notice and they were now just going around and around in the center of it. She thought they should have reached the far end a long time ago, but continued to press against the tide of cold bodies at the same angle. As she grew more frustrated and a little frightened, she noticed more walkers were edging near to take a closer look at her. They tilted their heads back to catch a whiff, snapping their jaws and studying her with their milky dead eyes. Lydia started to panic and her breath came in short, quick gasps.

Daryl squeezed her hand once, twice, and the reminder of another living person brought her back from the precipice. She drew in long, deep breaths and tried to slow her heart rate. Daryl peered at her watchfully from beneath his fringe, only able to speak with his eyes. You okay?

Lydia offered a barely perceptible nod. She saw Negan and Carol watching her worriedly from behind Daryl. All of them were relying on her to lead them out of the herd. It was up to her what happened from here. 

Lydia continued to push on in the same direction, at the same angle against the walkers. The four of them slouched and staggered and felt like even though they were walking and walking, they seemed to stay in the same place, stuck in a circle of a Dante-esque hell, doomed to rinse and repeat their endless march until they finally dropped and the dead fell on them to feast. They all kept their heads down, unwilling or unable to look at each other. They had walked for at least another hour and the walker innards on Daryl and Carol's sheets were drying under the spring sun and losing their effectiveness as more and more walkers approached to examine them.

Daryl chanced a glance back at Carol and saw her eyes were wide and scared. It as evident she'd been approaching panic for some time already, and even Daryl could smell her fear now. A walker drew close from behind her and snarled at the back of her head, gnashing it's rotten teeth and drooling onto the shoulder of her jacket. It was going to bite her. Daryl froze, ready to let go of Lydia and leap to Carol's defense -- 

Negan stepped smoothly forward and pushed his knife up through the base of the the walker's skull. It crumpled immediately and he broke its fall and and slowly lowered it to the ground, stepping clumsily over it and struggling to keep his movements from being fast or jerky. He gave both of them a slight nod and they all turned to face Lydia again, still following her without missing a step. The walkers' interest in them continued to grow, and it was only a matter of time till their cover was blown.

Suddenly Lydia saw a break in the bodies ahead. She gave an extra tug to Daryl's hand, which he transmitted down the line. Lydia fought to control her emotions when she stepped out of the herd into the rustling grass to glimpse the top of the wall and the tip of a windmill blade through the trees half a mile away. She turned slowly to the others, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. She had just led them all the way through the horde and out the other side.

**********

They made their way gradually to the base of the wall, moving slowly and irregularly so as not to bring the horde back with them, careful to avoid any new walkers and moving as quietly as they could to the nearest gate. Daryl waved up at the sentinel on the wall and in moments the bolt was drawn and the gate slowly opened. They hurried inside then stopped to get their bearings, looking at each other in amazement. It seemed only minutes since they were lost in the horde, and now they were home, safe inside the walls. 

Daryl and Carol pulled the walker-smeared sheets off their bodies and balled them up to dispose of. Lydia and Negan removed their masks, then Lydia sank down to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her. She hugged herself and bent over, rocking. All three adults went to her immediately and knelt around her in concern. The young man who was on gate duty and had let them in closed and bolted the gate, then ran off to spread the news that all four of them were back.

"You okay, Lydia?" Daryl asked with concern. "You saved our asses out there."

"I'll be all right," she said faintly, taking deep breaths. "The horde. I didn't know it was the horde." She looked up and around at all of them. "I didn't think it was that big when we went into it."

"Maybe the herd we were crossing merged with the horde while we were in it," Carol suggested. "However it happened, Daryl's right. You saved us. You got all of us through it."

Lydia leaned a little to her left away from them and threw up in the grass. Carol swiftly moved around behind her and pulled her hair back and out of her face, gathering it behind her neck and rubbing the girl's back with her free hand. Lydia vomited bile until she was dry heaving. finally she stopped and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her arm shaking.

"Sorry," she said, and spat into the grass, wiping her mouth again. "Not sure why I did that. Nerves, I guess." Carol released her hair and helped the girl to her feet.

"You got nerves of steel, kid, and don't you forget it," Negan assured her. "You done good." He reached out and clutched her shoulder. "Go home with your folks and get yourself some rest. Tomorrow we'll make some Whisperer masks for your fam." 

Lydia nodded and clung to Daryl's arm all the way to the brownstone. They thought she was probably experiencing a delayed sense of shock. After all, she hadn't intended to plunge them into and through the heart of the horde for two hours. Just the thought of how deeply within the horde they'd been buried at one point made her want to vomit all over again. It was a miracle they hadn't been devoured.

Judith and R.J. and Dog flew out the door to greet them with quiet enthusiasm as the Dixons ascended the steps of the brownstone. Negan hung a left to return to his own place, and he gave them a wave as he split off from the group. They all waved back instinctively, in unison, seeing the surprise and a fleeting smile on his face before Negan turned swiftly away.

"Negan," Carol said, calling him back. "Wait a minute." She unshouldered her pack and pulled out two bars from the package of chocolate stashed in the top. "For later." She held them out to him. "Dessert." He hesitated, then turned and came back and plucked the bars delicately from her fingers. "Why, thank you, Missus Dixon," he said. Then he nodded at all of them again and went home.

"Does he have anything to eat at his place?" Carol asked Lydia under her breath as they walked into the house. She and Daryl dropped the heap of bloody sheets on the stoop and their backpacks and weapons just inside the door.

"He had dried meat," Lydia said. "Some. Or at least he did a few days ago." She wrinkled her nose. "He's been eating a lot of fried apples and onions. With sugar and molasses. It's gross."

"Where did Negan get sugar and molasses?" Carol inquired, even though she already knew.

"Um," Lydia said. "Maybe he found some on a run?"

Carol gestured to pantomime a Pinocchio nose growing out of Lydia's face. "Riiight," she drawled. "And there's a purple alligator swimming in the upstairs toilet bowl."

"Huh?" Lydia asked, confused.

"Never mind," said Carol. "It was the right thing to do."

"The council's going to pay Negan from now on," Judith piped excitedly. "With extra food and stuff. For tending the garden, and hunting." 

"Is that true?" Daryl asked Aaron, who was coming out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"It is," Aaron said. "Someone should let Nora know Negan's come back. She was going to pull garden duty today. Or maybe she still should... Did you get any sleep while you were out there?"

"You might want to give Negan the day off," Carol said thoughtfully. "He's had a pretty stressful last couple. Could probably use a break." She dropped gracefully onto the couch and Daryl landed on the cushion next to her. "We all could."

"You want me to take the kids to my place?" Aaron asked, gathering his and Gracie's few things he'd brought over with them.

"Nah, they're good with us. Thanks. And thanks for lookin' out for 'em while we were out there," Daryl said. "Didn't mean to be gone overnight. Got caught on the wrong side of the horde."

"Where's your bike?" Aaron asked, alarmed.

"In a ditch, about three miles out. Rear wheel's locked up. We're gonna need a wagon to bring it back, and that ain't happenin' for a while yet. Too many herds out there... big ones." Daryl turned to Judith. "What's this about Negan and the garden now..? You was sayin'... "

"The council decided to comp him," Judith said excitedly. "for working in the garden." 

"Seems his absence got notice this morning when there were no root vegetables or boar jerky at the market," Aaron interjected. "It's been easy to take him for granted. He never asks for anything."

"Would you?" Lydia inquired. "If you were him?" She picked up her pack and went upstairs to her room. In a few minutes, they heard the upstairs shower come on.

"I know I'm not on the council,' Carol offered, "but this whole thing with Negan and Lydia? People need to start accepting them. For at least a year, they've contributed more than half the people living here, and all they get in return is alienation and the cold shoulder. It's bullshit."

"I have some ideas about that," Judith volunteered proudly. She retrieved and opened the notebook she'd been writing in so fiercely at the council meeting and perched herself on an armchair. "Everybody's been trading and exchanging goods but there's nothing to make sure its fair. So some people take more than they earn, or receive less than they should." She flipped through a couple pages. "What Alexandria needs is vouchers. Like money, only not."

"And?" Daryl asked. He and Carol waited expectantly.

"The vouchers are for all kinds of things. Food, clothes, everything people trade for right now. Like Carol. She bakes and cans things. So Carol's vouchers might be for a pie, or a loaf of bread, or maybe a jar of venison. Or maybe she sews something, or sets a broken leg." Judith turned to Daryl. "You and Lydia both hunt a lot and give the meat away to the community kitchen. That's great, but you aren't responsible for feeding everyone in Alexandria who can't feed themselves. So you'd get vouchers from the kitchen in exchange."

Daryl was curious. "Vouchers for what?"

"Trade value items unique to the kitchen," Aaron explained. "Dry goods, meals. Cooking lessons? Or, maybe you take them the ingredients and they prepare the dish. Whatever they've got that you want of like value that they're willing to trade. You could choose meal vouchers and give them away or trade them for different vouchers, if that's your preference. The general idea is free trade as fair trade. There shouldn't be anyone getting everything for nothing, and no one should get nothing for doing everything. First thing after the four of you went missing, people realized you all support the community -- with food especially -- a lot. No more being taken for granted."

"Ain't nothin,'" Daryl grunted uncomfortably. "Not gonna make people go hungry if they can't pay."

"We have a plan for that, too," Judith added. "And a plan for determining trade values so it's fair." She drew a breath. "Then if the other settlements join in -- "

"Judith?" Carol asked. "We're excited to hear more about your plan, but your Uncle Daryl and I just walked for hours slathered in walker guts and we stink and we're really tired... " She offered an apologetic smile.

"Sure!" Judith chirped. "It can wait. You two should clean up and get some rest."

Daryl and Carol shared an amused glance. Judith was still so precious when she was trying to be an adult. Carol groaned and got slowly to her feet, extending her hand to Daryl to help him up. They clung to each other unsteadily for a moment, almost dizzy.

"Felt like I was still in the horde for a minute," Carol murmured. "Like when you'd get off a boat, or a plane. How it feels like the motion's still there."

"Ain't never been on a plane," Daryl said. "But i know what you mean."

Aaron gave them a wave as he headed for the door with Gracie in tow. "It's okay to talk in normal tones guys, but keep the volume down. The herd's on its way out and we want them to keep moving."

Carol and Daryl made their way downstairs to their room where they shared a bath, then dried off and climbed into bed while the afternoon sun was casting it's golden glow through the blinds and painting stripes on the wall. Grateful to be back home, fresh and clean in their own bed, they exchanged lazy kisses and hungry caresses but were only up to a one shot, then passed out cold in the afterglow.

**********

Lydia had showered and laid down for a nap, instantly exhausted once back in her own bed. She rose at twilight and, after checking with Aaron to ensure it was safe to bang a few pots and pans, set about cooking the fam breakfast for dinner. She fried and set out bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns made from dehydrated potato slices. There was bread with butter and jam. Dog sat on the floor just outside the boundary they'd set for him in the kitchen, watching Lydia cook and wagging hopefully while licking his chops. Lydia broke a slice of bacon in two and tossed him half at a time. He swallowed without chewing.

R.J. was practically running in circles. Breakfast was his favorite meal. Judith pulled him away from his dervishness long enough to help her prepare trays to take down to Daryl and Carol as a surprise. She didn't trust R.J. to actually carry one of the loaded trays, but he laid the silverware and napkins next to their plates, and followed Judith down the stairs with a cup of tea as she took their trays down one at a time. R.J. set the tea mugs on the stairs, and the children rapped a sharp knock on the door, then scrambled back to the kitchen, muffling their giggles.

Daryl opened the door, hair mussed and rubbing his eyes, clad in a tee shirt and pajama pants. He saw the trays with their hot breakfasts and cutlery and the cups of tea and he grinned. "Damn. That looks amazin.'" He wanted to call his thanks up the stairs, but wasn't sure how close the horde was. He bent down and picked up a tray, carrying it back into the room. "Continental breakfast for dinner," he said, setting it down in Carol's lap as she sat up and greeted him with a sleepy smile. Daryl lit the lantern and hung it from a big hook on the wall.

"Oh, my," she said admiringly, taking a moment to appreciate the artful arrangement of food on the plate, everything laid out to look its best. "Lydia cooked this? I recognize her style."

Daryl closed the door and climbed back into bed toting his own tray. He gobbled a crispy slice of bacon off his plate. "She was taught by the best, but I ain't takin' the time to appreciate her artwork today. Just hungry and it tastes pretty damn good." iHe slathered butter and jam on a slice of bread, folded it around a slice of bacon and ate half in a single bite, washing it down with a swig of hot tea. "Lydia cooks almost as well as you, now. Almost."

Carol turned slightly toward him, a little smile playing around her lips, her eyes deep and thoughtful. "Sophia would be pleased," she said quietly.

"Yes," he agreed. "She definitely would." He cleared his throat. "Henry, too."

She made a tiny choking sound, but the smile she gave him was real, though she couldn't form any words. She nodded instead. Daryl held up his plate like an offering and she laughed and speared a forkful of hash browns, then flipped a piece of bacon from her plate onto his.

They were ravenous and the fresh cooked meal was delicious. They cleaned their plates and drained their mugs. She noticed him staring at her breasts as she sat up in their bed topless and ate. Now she winked and shimmied at him seductively. 

He leaned quickly over to fondle and suckle the nipple closest to him, easing his other hand between her thighs. Carol writhed beneath his touch and shifted, hitting her forgotten tray with her hip in a clatter of china. "Wait," she said, sitting up to gather their dishes and set them on the bedside table. She turned back to him, licking her lips. "Time for dessert," she said, reaching over to tug at his pajamas, which he quickly shoved down and kicked to the foot of the bed. Carol took hold of his shoulders, threw her leg over his hips and eased herself into his lap. She was dripping and slick and her readiness always took him by surprise. Daryl couldn't get over the fact that he had the power to bring on that kind of physical response in her. It did wonders for his self esteem.

Carol arched her back and panted, riding him as he touched her where he knew she needed it most. As their rhythm grew frantic and less coordinated, she raised a hand to her mouth to muffle herself. Daryl reached out to clutch her wrist with his free hand and pulled hers away from her face, then remembered the horde had been close to the walls. She nodded and put her hands down to brace herself against his chest.

"Hate that we gotta be quiet," he gasped, thrusting up into her and not far behind, "I like watchin' you come. Don't cover your face." The sight and sounds of Carol having an orgasm while struggling to contain her expressions of ecstasy without clamping her hands over her mouth was its own turn-on. While always handsy and orally fixated in their twoshot indulgences, they didn't actually fuck in their own bed very often and it was a new kind of excitement now. Carol thrashed in his lap and choked off her own cries out of sheer will alone. When her spasms had dwindled to twitches Daryl sat up, rolled her on her back and took what he needed, grunting into the crook of her neck as his hips pushed hers into the mattress. 

He kissed her softly afterward, then rolled off and lay beside her. He reached over to brush her hair from her eyes. Carol caught his wrist in her small, strong hand and drew his thumb to her mouth and sucked on it, staring at him with her clear, blue eyes. "Mmmmm," she moaned.

"Damn, woman," Daryl breathed in amazement. "You gonna kill me and it feels so good." 

"I want you to fuck me again before we leave this room," she said, after letting his thumb go with a wet pop. "I told you... Need it like air." She lay next to him, propped up on an elbow and caressing him lazily with her free hand until he began to twitch and respond to her light, teasing touches. She demonstrated how his thumb had just been a preview. When he was squirming and clutching the blankets in his fists, Carol got up from the bed, walked over to the fly tying table, and put her hands on the tabletop. She winked over her shoulder as she bent down, and presented.

In a flash he was on his feet and nudging his way in from behind, holding her hips. He reached down and around with his right hand to stroke the center of her, controlling the tempo and rhythm until she was beyond wet and begging "Please please please..." Daryl braced his feet on the floor and pounded into her as she'd asked, his face red and contorted as he fought to hold himself back until her gasps and and spasms told him she'd gotten what she wanted, then he rushed to follow her headlong into oblivion. 

Carol giggled a little, panting and bent over the table. "Wow." Both of them laughed, and he stepped back and slipped out of her. Daryl bent over and pressed a line of kisses in down her spine. "You're the sexiest woman in the apocalypse." 

Carol straightened and whirled around, smiling. "You sure make me feel like I am." She picked up her pink chenille robe from the back of a chair and slipped it on, tying the belt. She ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders, caressing them. How she loved his shoulders, so broad and sturdy. Like so much else about him, they just did something to her. She couldn't explain or quantify it, but her limitless desire for him was an indisputable need she no longer questioned nor attempted to deny. 

"Be right back," she promised, and ducked into the bathroom to wash up.

**********

The herds had thinned and the horde finally moved over a dozen miles away by the end of May.

Daryl, Aaron, and four others had gone back to pick up the motorcycle the first day it was safe to take a wagon out. It took all six of them to lift the bike into the wagon, even with the tailgate down. The bike sat parked under an awning near the garden with Daryl tinkering at repairing it in his spare time, which he didn't have much of, these days. What little was available to him, he preferred to spend with Carol and the fam. They still talked about New Mexico once in a while, but until the bike was repaired and there was a solution to the fuel shortage situation, they wouldn't be traveling far from home.

Carol and Daryl ventured to the honeymoon suite soon after to empty the bunker. They left behind the .357 and ammunition, three days' worth of freeze dried meals, some matches, the remaining candles, the little stove, a water filter, one futon, three blankets, and two Whisperer masks. Just in case. Everything else they packed up and took home. 

In light of all that had happened after their last visit, a farewell session never even occurred to them. In the two months since, they'd been having incredibly satisfying sex in the comfort and safety of their own room -- or wherever else they selected to hook up. They did enjoy their variety. While they would always cherish the memories of their wilder encounters in the honeymoon suite, they now saw Negan and Lydia in their mind's eye whenever they went down the ladder into the chamber. Negan left a shadow of himself like a stain every place he went.

Daryl and Carol concluded the honeymoon suite was too far away to visit with any regularity. It was impractical. It was dangerous traveling that far on foot, and the roar of the bike was a damn dinner gong when you had that many walkers staggering around. They'd been getting their freak on at home in ways that were satisfying enough and free from unnecessary risks.

Lydia developed a lucrative business making Whisperer masks. She and Negan started out doing it together, but Negan was too busy with the garden and other endeavors, at least during the warmer months. The masks were in high demand once their effectiveness was proven. Lydia was filling back orders now and would stay busy with it for as long as she wanted to. It was a strange new world for her, venturing outside the walls to find walkers who matched the physical size of her "clients," then stalking and taking them down like slow game animals and removing their skins. She would return carrying a dozen or more skins and "scalps," as Negan referred to them, in a burlap bag and spend days scraping and tanning them with the hair on. It was a repulsive, odoriferous process. After a few botched attempts by random individuals, people were happy to commission her to make masks for them. 

It was understood Lydia needed a place to cure the masks where the sight of them didn't constantly creep people out. For a while she used the lean-to where Daryl kept his bike, but it wasn't big enough for all the masks and eventually the Council decided to build a large shed specifically for the purpose of manufacturing "Whisperer couture," another Neganism. Two helpers were appointed as Lydia's apprentices and while at first she was skeptical, they turned out to be capable, and sincere in their desire to learn a craft that would save lives. 

Lydia's masks were the best protection available, and there was no shortage of people needing them. It was a full time job that sometimes left her exhausted at the end of the day, but also gave her a sense of value and purpose and cemented her place within the community. Sometimes she imagined she was making up for all the lives her mother had taken by saving others in their place, and it fed and healed her wounded soul.

Lydia was paid for the masks in all manner of currencies and trade items, including vouchers. Carol and Daryl teased her about being the first wealthy Dixon.

Lydia and Negan both had less time for hunting now. Tending to the community garden was also a full time occupation. The council held a public meeting and granted Negan ownership of the garden plot with the condition he provide a minimum volume and percentage of all produce to the community kitchen as a public service. The kitchen further comped him with vouchers. He could use them for dry goods or services or pantry items or they could be traded for other vouchers. Negan was free to use or trade any produce exceeding his agreement with the kitchen at his own discretion. No one else had so much as pulled a weed in the garden for a year and it was by all other appearances, Negan's, so the council made it official. Soon he was just another entrepreneur.

**********

"Really," Negan was saying, "I meant what I said. No reason to abandon your honeymoon bolt hole. No one else knows and it'll stay that way. I swear it."

It was late summer and Carol and Negan were standing in the Dixon/Grimes kitchen, trading vouchers. Carol used the community kitchen vouchers Negan traded mostly for dry goods and in exchange, traded her own vouchers for sewing, mending, canned and baked goods. She knew domesticity wouldn't always suit nor satisfy her, but for now, it was all manners of fine. 

She was a little stunned by how many Alexandrians wanted her cookies and pastries. The morning after a baking spree people were lined up in front of the brownstone, ready to trade. If the baked goods were not going to be up for grabs, she had to tack a sign on the front door that said as much on the night before baking them. Once she'd announced at a council meeting she was making cookies the following day that would not be available for trade, and at least two members of the public left the meeting in tears. Carol's cookies were just that awesome.

Carol studied Negan with more than a little suspicion. "The whole point was that no one else knew about it." She brought out two separate wicker baskets of fresh baked cookies and pulled back the linen dish towels covering them. Negan studied the baskets for a minute, then pointed at one. 

"All the one?" Carol asked. "Or half and half."

"Just the one. Don't particularly like raisins."

"Duly noted." Carol put the second basket away and counted out two dozen of the cookies from Negan's selection. She slipped them into the leather pouch he handed her. He stopped her after the first dozen. "Keep the other half for Lydia and the kids," he said. He had a canvas tote bag and she put three big loaves of sourdough and a package of home made pilot bread in it with the cookies. She added a small jar of strawberry jam and one of apple butter. The other cookies she set out on a plate on the counter.

Negan set several vouchers on the table and a basket of his own, of summer produce. Carol pushed the vouchers around with her finger, studying their values. Some were for the pantry and others for the garden.

"Fair deal?" Negan asked, pulling a cookie from the pouch, breaking it in two and eating it on the spot. He would never admit it out loud, but he was as crazy about Carol's cookies as everyone else.

"Fair deal," she agreed, selecting two zucchinis, an onion and some tomatoes from the basket to fix with dinner. "Just because I think you're an asshole doesn't mean I think you'd try to cheat me. You seen Lydia today?"

"She's probably out at the practice field with Daryl," Negan said. "You know he won't stop trying to master that sling until he's as good as she is."

"Well," she said. "We can always use more birds on the table." Even with the chickens people raised, fowl was still their least available meal option. 

"I meant what I said about your honeymoon suite," Negan reminded her.

"Yeah, I heard you. You probably do. I don't know... we don't know. How safe it is out there, now. It's so far away." She drummed her fingers on the countertop. There was a ring on her hand now that flashed and reflected the light. "There's nothing left in it, anymore. It's just a cold, dark hole in the ground."

"Well, I personally think it's still way too goddamn dangerous and voyeuristic to screw out in the bright sunshine, especially in the manner to which you're accustomed, but suit yourselves," he said.

Carol grinned and shook her silver mane. "You are such a pig. Beat it. Before my husband comes home to find you here and gets all up in his head about it. He finished the bike and took it for a test run or he'd have 'greeted' you himself."

"Daggers in hand, no doubt," Negan said. "I wouldn't want to tangle with him. He's never going to forgive me, is he?" 

"Probably not," she said. 

He picked up the loaded canvas bag. "Same time day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Bring lettuces, please, sugar snap peas, and radishes. Plus the same stuff you brought today?"

"That's a pretty tall order. Is Carol, queen of cookies and defender of Alexandria prepared to offer goods of equal value in exchange?" 

She laughed out loud and snapped the dish towel at him. "Don't give half of them to the kids next time. And yes, Negan, king of vulgarity and cultivator of the garden, you best come prepared to pony up plenty of vouchers and vegetables."

Negan ran into Judith and R.J. on the stoop on his way out. R.J. carried a box of fishing flies he'd been trading with and had four left. Negan swapped him for access to compost from the garden to feed the boy's night crawlers. R.J. used and traded the worms as fishing bait and kept them in a big white marine cooler punched full of holes. The cooler sat outside in perpetual shade next to the wall and beneath a big tree. Daryl called it ''Carol's boat."

"Left you guys some cookies," Negan told the kids. "Save four for Lydia."

Negan kept the artificial flies cupped in one hand, careful not to hook himself, and carried the canvas bag in the other. He passed a neighbor and they exchanged nods of greeting. Negan had a couple of roommates now, and between the three of them, they managed to scavenge, trade, or hunt to rustle up the goods to make a fine supper most evenings. 

The roommate situation was a happy accident. As the only occupant of his house at the time, Negan had space to accommodate a pair of new residents from the Garden. The two young men, Tom and Matt were nineteen and twenty-two and had never heard of Negan or the Saviors or the Sanctuary. They'd moved to Alexandria to apprentice with some of the tradesmen. They were appointed the other two of the three bedrooms in the unit. On the night of their arrival, the three men sat around the kitchen table like card players and offered up various edibles from their individual supplies to construct a supper of sorts. They ended up bonding over the surprising result, a savory stew of epic deliciousness. 

The bachelors instantly adopted this as a daily tradition. It evolved to a level where they wrote out a vague meal plan for each week in advance to avoid culinary clashes. Some foods just didn't go together, no matter how hard you tried, and they tried their best. Some of their concoctions were the best stew, chowder, soup ever, and a couple were so awful even Dog wouldn't eat them. The men were all loud and brash and funny, with the same swagger and annoying sense of humor. They called themselves the Three Kings.

Daryl called them the Three Negans.

**********

By the end of September the garden was winding down enough that Negan found some time to get away and go hunting. To his chagrin, he discovered Lydia had hooked up with a new hunting buddy, his nineteen year-old roommate, Tom. They invited Negan to accompany them on their hunts, but it was obvious he was the third wheel. He took to hunting by himself, and didn't mind the time alone. He cherished the peace, now that he lived with people boisterous and annoying as himself.

Daryl had mastered the sling and his aim was as accurate as Lydia's. Birds had a high trade value for their meat and feathers, but Daryl only took what was needed for the fam's table. Dog often accompanied him and was turning into a respectable retriever, flushing birds and bringing them back. Daryl spent less time hunting big game animals and more time birding with Lydia and Dog, fishing with R.J., or going over food inventories, the census, and matters of the council with Judith. He still dreamt of running off to New Mexico with Carol, but life in Alexandria was good, and often better than he'd ever hoped to have...

R.J.'s only interest in the world outside the walls were the fishing opportunities it offered and Daryl encouraged his curiosity and abilities. People from settlements beyond the outlying Garden heard of R.J.'s fishing flies and traveled to Alexandria to trade for them. R.J. received them like a king with his subjects. 

"Takes after his old man," Daryl observed. "Gotta be smack in the center of the whole fuckin' universe."

"Nothing wrong with that, Pookie," Carol told him. "You're the center of mine."

The horde headed west one day and kept moving away until at last report it was forty miles from Alexandria, farther than it had gone since they'd known it existed. It took weeks for tens of thousands of walkers to shuffle that far, and the council decided to stop monitoring it when it got to fifty miles out. When scouts followed behind it to determine how many large herds were left and their size, they were surprised to find almost nothing. "It's like the horde vacuumed up all the strays on its way out of town," Aaron reported, stunned. "We saw twenty. Twenty walkers, all day. And we walked for miles." 

"That's not good for the mask business," Lydia observed. "I mean, we'd rather not have any walkers, but...?"

"Maybe you just gotta go out ranging further afield to hunt 'em," Daryl suggested. "One of them masks is worth more than a whole deer." A deer guaranteed food and a lot of useful materials and byproducts but a mask, when used properly, guaranteed your life, over and over again. Lydia had always been able to name her price, and if she chose to give masks away or charge next to nothing it was her business. She knew who could afford it and who couldn't. Most of the people in Alexandria had masks now. Some had paid handsomely and others not much at all. Lydia had a monopoly on the Whisperer mask market and she took advantage of it in all the right ways. 

"Free enterprise, baby!" Negan declared, and he and Lydia exchanged a high five while everyone else around them rolled their eyes. 

Daryl was at first horrified to find Lydia was "dating one of the Negans." Lydia got up the nerve to accept Carol's encouragement to invite Tom for supper. Once at the table, Daryl fixed him with the stink eye and peppered him with questions until he was satisfied Tom wasn't the next Governor or serial killer. By the time the evening and the visit were over, Daryl wasn't exactly calling Tom "son," but he did invite him to return. Lydia shot Carol a surreptitious look of immense relief and Daryl rasped, "I saw that. Settle down. Ain't marryin' you off quite yet." Lydia laughed and poked him in the ribs. "Thanks a lot, Dad."

Judith was elected to the council. She was their youngest member but had campaigned unopposed for Laura's position. Her arguments in favor of her appointment were progressive and informed. She wasn't just a kid playing at grown up, she was being grown up. She had created a census, and now the trade voucher system. No one could deny she had earned a place at the table.

Judith finally came clean to Carol and Daryl about Michonne. She told them why her mother had left, and how Judith had convinced her the Whisperers were vanquished and the battle won when in fact, it had barely begun. Daryl was annoyed with himself for not puzzling out her lie sooner. He should have known Michonne wouldn't just up and abandon her kids in the middle of a war, reason or no reason. He was sad Judith had carried the burden of her deception for so long, and glad that Rick might -- just might -- be alive.

In the first days of October, Daryl was on sentinel duty in the tower because it was easy and his back hurt from marathon lovemaking of the night before. Daryl hadn't confessed to Carol yet about exacerbating his old injury, but believed she was beginning to suspect. He didn't feel like extending himself today, so he'd volunteered for day watch and was therefore the first person to see them coming up the road. 

Even at a distance, he recognized their silhouettes and the ways they moved immediately. The tall, lean woman wore fold over boots and what was surely a katana on her back. The slightly bow legged man with her had a familiar, jaunty manner of walking and what looked like a large revolver in a holster on his hip. Both of them were coming down the road at a good clip and toward the gate with a confidence like they owned the place. 

Daryl quickly descended the tower ladder and whipped around to face Lydia, who was just walking up to relieve him from the post at end of shift.

"Go get the rest of the fam," he told her. She saw an unfamiliar urgency in his face. He emanated not fear, but excitement. "Bring 'em all here fast as you can."

Lydia didn't waste time, she turned and ran swiftly toward the brownstones.

Daryl strode to the gate and threw the bolt, then pushed the gate open, being mindful of his back. They were closer now, and he knew for sure it was them. This was no dream. His mind erupted with questions, some of them angry and hurt, and he tamped them all down and shut the lid on it. The past was the past. They had all done what they had to do, when they had to do it. Daryl knew he would go to the ends of the earth if he had reason to believe Carol was out there somewhere. He couldn't fault Michonne for doing the same. He turned to wait for their approach and he could tell they recognized him, too. Daryl raised his arm over his head and waved a welcome as he heard the footfalls of the fam coming up fast from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've shipped Caryl forever, and discovered fanfic a little over a year ago. I'm so tired of seeing Caryl suffer and not get to be together, and like everyone else who writes this stuff, I set out to fix it in my own way. Caryl deserve a happy ending, dammit. This fic is dedicated to the Caryl authors and artists, you are all amazing and inspire me every day. Thanks for letting me share and play in your sandbox.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and settings all belong to AMC. Lucky bastards. I don't own a thing.


End file.
